


?lMiS;,iW: 




LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



DDDDSHSnflA 






-^-^ 











K . iW*' ./%. '-.IK-' . / 



'" *^^ .<^" ' 









^°-n^. 



^^ '♦ » If o 













r^. iw^- ../x ^^' . ^^'^-^^ . 'I 











%.^' .*^fe"' X/ .'«'• %.^* .-^ 




^9^ 



'*».^** aO 



^O. 








.^'\ 







WHEN JOHNNY COMES 
MARCHING HOME 




Interior of the church at Couilly looking out from the 
choir across the nave to the right aisle 

See page ij6 



When Johnny Comes 
Marching Home 



BY 
MILDRED ALDRICH 



AUTHOR OF "A HILLTOP ON THE MARNE, "TOLD IN A FRENCH 

GARDEN, AUGUST, I914," " ON THE EDGE OF THE WAR 

ZONE," *'tHE peak of THE LOAD " 




BOSTON 

SMALL, MAYNARD AND COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 



r J^ 



3V 






Copyright, 19 1 9 
By Mildred Aujrich 



Utu 10 1319 



THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U. 8. A, 

©CI.A586918 



To THE Memory of 

^ift iZioga from tlft ^tatBB 

whose young bodies lie in bravely earned peace along 
the quiet roadsides of beloved France 

AND TO 

^ift Womtn 

who, in silent pain, sent them ** overseas'* to meet then- 
great adventure 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

FACING PAGE 

Interior of the church at Couilly looking out 
from the choir across the nave to the 
right aisle Frontispiece 

Bridge at Chateau-Thierry defended by 
American machine gunners. It was after- 
ward destroyed 64 

The bridge over the Grande Morin between 
Couilly and St. Germain over which 
thousands of American boys marched on 
their way to Chateau-Thierry in June, 
19 1 8. At the further end at the left is 
the Route National which leads to Meaux 136 

Tototte holding down her "scrap of paper" 

and looking for another 210 

Khaki in the arbor looking down at Tototte 218 

Khaki in the garden waiting for his breakfast 218 



TO THE GENTLE READER 

At the time the letters which made up 
**The Peak of the Load" were edited, no 
one '' over here " had any hope that the order 
*' cease firing " would be given on the western 
front before the spring of 19 19. Otherwise 
that book would have been held back until 
after the armistice. 

It had been my intention when the 
fighting on this front ended so prematurely, 
to publish none of the letters written to the 
States after the cessation of hostilities, for 
the reason that there was no longer any war 
activity here, and the war activity had 
been their sole excuse. Here, the country- 
side settled down at once to an outward 
calm rarely disturbed by anything in the 
least warlike, — that is, anything which 
it seemed to me could make the smallest 
appeal to even "the friends old and new," 
who had received three books with such 
touching and outspoken sympathy, and whose 
whole thought, I was convinced, was al- 
ready turned to larger events unrolling in 
other places, beside which our simple life 
could make no call. 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

More than that — it was Inevitable that In 
the letters which I wrote to my Intimate 
friends after the armistice I should write of 
many things interesting only to them and to 
me, which were more or less personal com- 
ments and opinions on and of conditions and 
events already familiar to every one in the 
wide, wide world, and therefore containing 
no single note of novelty, and that I shouH 
also pick up threads that had been neglected 
in the exciting days of actual warfare, and 
that the spiritual movement In the air, as a 
result of the stunning shock to which the 
whole world had stood up, should have Im- 
pelled me now and again to write in an in- 
timate way of the thought and soul waves 
which are sweeping over the earth, and 
whose tides washed up here on the Hilltop. 

Unfortunately for my Intention I have 
been receiving during the weeks which have 
elapsed since "The Peak of the Load" ap- 
peared, letters from all over the States, and 
from England, from Canada, from Austra- 
lia, begging for all sorts of details about our 
life "after the armistice" — how we were 
living, how the people took the end of the 
war, what they thought of It all. So I have 
reluctantly — I am sure without the least 
vanity — finally yielded to the wishes of 
those who received the earlier letters with 
so much Indulgent kindness, and edited these 
final words from the Hilltop. 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

With keen appreciation of the fact that 
the letters contain nothing In the way of facts 
or ideas that have the least novelty and very 
much that is already ancient history, I can 
only say to those who have called for **more" 
— you have asked — and you receive. 

Mildred Aldrich. 

Huiry, April, IQJQ. 



WHEN JOHNNY COMES 
MARCHING HOME 



La Creste, Huiry, August j6, 1918 

Dearest of Old Girls : 

On returning from my last Sunday trip to 
Versailles I found your letter of July 20th, 
lying on my desk to welcome me. I was 
touched, and comforted, too, to know that 
you had felt so excited about me, but I was 
sorry that you had worried. I actually for- 
got this time that you would have any reason 
for alarm. To begin with, I am accustomed 
to the situation, and the conviction is woven 
into my very soul that nothing can happen to 
me now. 

All the same I do not want you, for a 
single second, to take It for granted — as you 
seem to be doing — that I do not give full 
credit to the way In which the Fates appear 
to have taken care of me. Believe me, I 
am never unmindful of it. Only, you see, 
there are thousands of people over here who 
have had much narrower escapes than I have 
— only you don't happen to have known 
them, and therefore they are not writing you 
letters. Besides, I am now and then mod- 
estly conscious that it is quite possible that 

[ I ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

the Individual here whom the gods have 
thought it worth while to save may not be 
yours truly at all. It Is the old story. I 
never do seem to get a leading part, — can't 
get in the limelight for even a short scene. 

You are quite just in saying that I have no 
right to have expected a " second miracle." 
To tell you the truth, after the Germans 
crossed the Marne, and bombed Meaux and 
Mareuil, I did not expect it. Still, the Fates, 
aided by some poilus, and a few Marines, 
brought it off; and let me tell you a pretty 
thing — I had a letter which was lying on my 
desk with yours, from an American lad who 
had been here, though I did not see him, tell- 
ing me that on the opening of the battle of 
Chateau-Thierry he and his comrades spoke 
of me, and bore In mind that they were stand- 
ing between me and the Germans. The letter 
was guardedly written — mentioned no place 
— and passed the censor. I understood. 
But wasn't that touching? 

From now on you can think of me every 
day as quite free from any possible return 
of the menace that threatened us for four 
months. As sure as the sun rises and sets, 
the Boches are going to take their medicine, 
and we do hope that it Is going to be admin- 
istered to them, without regard to cost, un- 
til they lie down to it simply because they 
can't take it standing. 

The huge bundle of newspapers came too. 

[ 2 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

Thank you. Of course they filled me with 
wonder and admiration — "knocked me 
silly," as the boys say. I simply floundered 
about in the long detailed accounts of the ex- 
ploits of the Marines and the story of the 
great Foch Offensive. We are so accus- 
tomed to newspapers of two pages only that 
a Sunday paper of 'steen pages, all full of 
descriptive accounts of the fighting, seems 
nothing short of amazing. And oh ! the 
headlines — those "scare-heads" In huge 
type ! They filled me with awe. You should 
have seen Amelle hanging over them ! I 
read every word. It took me days. Then 
I translated the lines under all the pictures 
— wrote the French under them — and Ame- 
lle took them home to Pere, who was as de- 
lighted as a child. I don't think they are 
done admiring them yet. They cut some of 
the pictures out, and pinned them up on the 
wall. 

It did seem odd to me to know that in 
those great days in July, when we were so 
silent here, you In the States had been ringing 
your bells, firing your cannon, and making 
the " welkin ring " generally with your shouts 
of victory, even on the very day after the 
Marines and the Territorials pushed the 
Boches back across the Marne at Dormans. 
I suppose, however, that It was perfectly 
logical. You arc so far away from it all. 
You have not had the four years of the ter- 

[ 3 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

rible forward and back. You simply see 
that our boys from home have jumped into 
the great fight and that victory perched on 
their "tin hats" at once. You know over 
there in the States that you came when your 
coming made victory sure — no one over 
here ever concealed that from you. So it is 
perfectly natural that you should glory in a 
knockout blow from the Yanks in the first 
round. For us Americans who have lived 
over here, so close to the Allied Armies 
standing up for four years against mighty 
odds, declining to know it when they were 
licked, and denying defeat when they were 
close to annihilation, waiting and hoping for 
the millions from home which could alone 
stem the tide, the case is different. We can't 
shout yet any more than the French can — or 
the British. Not yet has France celebrated 
any victory: not once since the war began 
has she hung out her flags except to honour 
the entering into line of a new Ally : no bells 
have been rung here except to warn people 
of an air raid or its finish : no guns have been 
fired except for military purposes. Yet it 
is four weeks since the Foch offensive began, 
and from the beginning it has been successful. 
Of course, to us here, who were watching 
the German offensives so short a time ago, 
and saw the Boche advance in such long and 
rapid strides, it does look slow, but slow as 
it is we are convinced that It Is sure. When 

[ 4 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

It began, the nearest point In the German 
lines to Paris was — as near as I could make 
out — Ferte-MIlon, a 13th century walled 
town where Racine was born, which Is only 
forty miles from the capital. Last night the 
nearest point was Fismes, sixty-six miles 
from Paris, where the Americans are fighting 
and giving a good account of themselves. 

I know that there Is nothing that I can 
possibly write to you for which you have such 
a keen craving as the doings of our own boys. 
You are not the only one who seems to think 
that I can keep track of them. Bless you, I 
can't. I don't see them except by accident. 

I get letters by the score from old friends 
In the States who say, "When you see my 
darling boy, do give him a great big hug and 
a kiss for his mother." There Is only one 
reply. " * Barkis Is willin.' " Only your boy 
must come after the hug and the kiss. I can't 
very well go up and down the road, like a 
sandwich man, advertising that " if any boy 
wants to be kissed for his mother or his 
best girl by proxy, now's his opportunity," 
can I? 

But, although I don't see the special boys 
from whom my own friends want news, and 
although I only see the others by accident, 
when special service brings them Into this 
neighbourhood, I do hear about them often, 
since any French officer who comes here Inva- 
riably comes to talk about them with me. 

[ 5 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

One of them told me yesterday, speaking of 
the great Chateau-Thierry drive, where thirt}?- 
per cent of the fighting army were Americans, 
that our boys fought like veterans, and with 
a tenacity that rivalled the best French regi- 
merits de choc, m a battle which he pro- 
nounced as ^^ furieuse^^^ and " one of the most 
deadly " of his entire career. One can hardly 
say more than that. So you may just hug to 
your heart the knowledge that they have 
made a great showing and provided the 
world with the proof that the people of the 
great democracy can be just as obedient to 
discipline as any tyrant-ridden, whip-driven 
race that ever went into war. I reckon that 
we can agree in saying that if a government 
can be as patriotic as the people of the States 
have proved thejmselves, even becoming 
temporarily autocratic can't smash the 
democracy. 

Of course the whole character of the war 
has changed as we see it here. That was 
inevitable as soon as, with the aid of the 
English fleet, the States succeeded in the 
wonderful feat of bringing Its millions 
through the submarine zone, and thus in- 
creasing the power of the Allied armies to a 
point which made them absolutely irresist- 
ible, by mere weight of numbers. Plenty of 
us have always known that Germany was 
going to be defeated. I imagine Germany 
knew it soon as she realized that she had 
[ 6 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

miscalculated again — the Yanks were over. 
That Is what makes the battle going on now 
so absolutely different from any of the great 
battles we have lived through. Up to now, 
we have watched great local offensives on 
both sides. Never until now have we seen, on 
either side, the entire battle-front from the 
North Sea to the Swiss frontier put in move- 
ment under the supreme command of one 
chief. Up to now the staggering German 
blows have been delivered first on one sec- 
tion of the line, then on another. Up to 
now these mighty German drives have rarely 
lasted more than ten days In each phase. If 
at the end of ten days the Bodies had not 
actually achieved their objective, or definitely 
put the Allied forces out of touch with one 
another, we could say — no matter how 
tragic had been our loss of ground, or how 
crushing our losses In men — "All Is not lost." 
So you can easily imagine what it is like here 
now, when, day after day, the battle goes on, 
day after day the Allies advance a little, and 
when we know there there is no longer any 
need to stop to reorganize, or to delay while 
men are being hurried from one end of the 
front to the other; no need to " let up " while 
men and material are being moved to some 
menaced point — for there is no lack to-day 
of either men or guns. The fighting has been 
heavier at one point to-day, at another to- 
morrow. But It has been continuous. And 

[ 7 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

for this blessed state of affairs every one 
says, " God bless America ! " 

I am afraid that I can't quite make you 
realize how different it is from what It was 
in June even, when the heavy fighting was 
going on behind the forest of Vllllers-Cot- 
terets, east of Compiegne. I already look to 
that time as if it were a bad dream. When- 
ever I think of It I can see myself waiting in 
silence for the news. I still remember the 
uneasy sleep at night, the early morning 
rising to wait for the news. I used to send 
a boy on his wheel to wait at Esbly for the 
Paris papers. It only gained an hour, but 
that hour in the morning was well worth 
gaining. It was so hard to listen to the guns 
In absolute ignorance of what they were 
saying. I used to stand on my lawn with a 
field glass, watching the road from Conde, 
and the moment I saw the wheel, I hurried 
out to meet it. The boy, young as he was — 
only twelve — had already got the news, and 
he understood. He always waved his hand 
as soon as we were within shouting distance, 
and called out " All right. They 've not 
broken through I " Then we all went back to 
work and to bear it for another day. Now 
and then — especially if the news were bad — 
we used to hear from the mairie, when the 
evening communique was telegraphed. We 
have no evening papers. I imagine it is be- 
cause you have never lived through that sort 
[ 8 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

of long suspense that you are able to ring 
out your bells of victory so soon. 

Do forgive my harping on these things. 
Though we believe they will never come 
again, they are still very living memories to 
us. 

If It happens — and It may — that this 
victory upsets our calculations, It will be 
wonderful. We are all prepared here for 
a fifth war winter. A month ago the sol- 
diers expected it, — yet. If It should be that 
the slogan "Heaven, Hell, or Hoboken for 
Christmas " Is nearer a prophecy than the 
joke it looked on July 4th, no one will deny 
that it will be due to the speeding up of the 
Americans, and the only danger Americans 
have to guard against is mistaking speeding 
up the machine for making It. 

When we examine the maps of the Ger- 
man offensives of March and May — and 
they are all printed In detail here, and then 
compare them with those of the slow going 
back of the Allies to-day you might think it 
would make simple people pessimistic, espe- 
cially remembering how many times we have 
advanced only to retreat again. It doesn't. 
Even here In this corner of the Brie country 
there Is n't a man, woman, or child who does 
not knozi: that the Germans are now facing 
a force which Is irresistible, and which leaves 
them no choice : that not even the sacrificing 
of their armies to a more wholesale slaughter 

[ 9 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

than ever can save them. The only question 
now is "when/' for It is sure that Germany 
will never fight on when the threat of in- 
vasion cannot be held off. For this condition 
of the great war the people here religiously 
believe the Americans to be responsible. 
" God bless the Americans," is the phrase 
oftenest on their lips. Well, God help us to 
live up to it. 

Last Thursday — that was the 8th — 
Amiens was safe, with the Germans eight 
miles further from the outskirts of the city 
than they have been since the end of the 
March offensive, which smashed the British 
5th Army. By the way, I have a story to 
tell you later regarding that disaster, which 
removes the blame from the English officers 
and puts it where the cause of so many dis- 
asters in this war has had to be so justly 
put — on politics and the war office. 

Of course the Allies are a long way from 
the line they held last March, but they are 
moving slowly toward it across a devastated 
country, — such a scene as you, safe In your 
homes on the west side of the Atlantic, can- 
not Imagine, try as you may, and which 
kindly nature' is going to arrange so that you 
never. In its full horror of naked freshness, 
will be able to see. 

I know that you arc going to twit me with 
still harping on devastation. I may as well 
anticipate the reproach and acknowledge that 

[ 10 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

it is absolutely deliberate on my part, — "lest 
you forget," — in the glory of victory — 
what it has cost others. It will require a 
mighty effort not to. That is why I insist on 
keeping devastation constantly before you in 
the hope that you will keep it in the minds of 
those about you. I would, if I could, inspire 
you to speak of it everywhere — when you 
go out to tea, when you make a call, when 
you dine out, between the acts at the theatre, 
at your Red Cross Unit, in the street car, even 
after church. If constant dropping wears 
away a stone, perhaps constant repetition of 
this disaster may help those who are so far 
away from the sight and the pain of the sit- 
uation out there in the north of France, to 
understand, in a measure, what has happened. 
Of course you will become a common nui- 
sance. But that is a matter of pure indiffer- 
ence to me. I am making one of myself. 
Do I care ? Not a jot. I shall return to the 
subject often. Reconcile yourself to it. If 
you can't, why, I'll have to find another cor- 
respondent, that 's all, — some one who will 
not mind helping me cry from the housetops 
the truth of what has happened in France 
until the very air vibrates with it from Hud- 
son's Bay to Cape Horn, and from the At- 
lantic to the Pacific. I have a reason for this. 
No need to be explicit just now. It will 
sooner or latter jump in your face without 
aid from me — the reason, I mean. 

[ II ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

Let me see — I wrote you last on Au- 
gust 4th, I think it was. Well, the Big 
Bertha got to work again the next day, after 
fifteen days of silence, and kept at it for five. 
On the last day — August 9th, — she only 
fired two shots. 

I think we were all rather surprised. We 
had hoped she had been pushed back so that 
Paris was out of range. I had a letter from 
Paris on the loth, which said that the bom- 
bardments of the 5th and 6th were, so far as 
the number of shots sent over, the worst since 
those of March 23d and March 30th, and 
more costly in lives than any since the day 
the bomb fell on St. Gervais, March 29th — 
Good Friday — during the musical service. 
Singularly enough only one shot was fired 
that day, but it was disastrous enough to 
make the day forever memorable. 

The greatest possible secrecy is still wisely 
preserved about the result of these bom- 
bardments as it is about the night raids of the 
German avions, — from which, by the way, 
Paris has been free since June 27th. No one 
knows why — at least no one who tells. 
Some say the Bodies are too busy elsewhere; 
some that, at last, they lack material; some 
that the air protection is now so perfected 
that the Boche flyers can't get through. I 
imagine any reason is more likely to be true 
than the last. 

It is much easier to preserve a kind of 

[ 12 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

localized secrecy regarding the night raids 
than it is regarding the bombardments by 
the Big Bertha, which occur in broad day- 
light. During the bombardments 'of this 
month, for example, every one knows just 
where the shells fell, because they were well 
within the city, and in places to which men on 
the boulevards could hurry before the fire 
department had time to clean up. When one 
fell, in the early afternoon of a beautiful day, 
in the rue des Capucines, just a step off the 
grand boulevards, it was hardly possible to 
conceal the fact, any more than it was on 
another day when shells fell in a line across 
the city, from the Invalides on one side of 
the Seine, to the Avenue Marceau on the 
other. You will be especially interested in 
the latter achievement, as the line crossed the 
Avenue Marceau not far from the place 
where I was living with Virginia in 1899, 
when you came there to see me. One bomb 
fell in the rue Bassano just opposite the old 
place. 

That makes me think — did I ever tell 
you that the Big Bertha reached the Made- 
leine one day? I am sure that I did not. I 
would not then have dared. I am bolder 
now. The shot came in. from the rue Tron- 
chet and decapitated the statue of some 
saint — I forget which one, — and made a 
hole in the pavement in front of it. 

Paris would not be Paris if it did not get 

[ 13 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

some fun out of the Incident. Almost as 
soon as the head rolled down the steps the 
story ran along the boulevards that the Big 
Bertha had decapitated a woman at the 
Madeleine. People ran to see. There was a 
crowd, and It was really quite a while before 
any one saw the joke, — If It was one. 

It was the 9th — a week ago to-day — that 
I was In Paris, on my way to Versailles, with 
the Big Bertha still at work. I lunched that 
day with a New York friend, just over from 
London, and having his first experience of 
a city under bombardment. He had been 
about to look at the damage done on the two 
previous days, and expressed a mild surprise 
when I said that no one considered these 
bombardments of any military Importance. 

"Why," he ejaculated, "how can you say 
that? There were hundreds of thousands 
worth of damage done yesterday alone, and 
I don't know how many people killed, but 
'they say' nearly a hundred. That seems 
to me an act of war quite worth while." 

I asked him If he had seen any signs of 
demoralization. 

"Well, no," he replied, "but Pve not 
seen any one who liked It." 

I had to own that I supposed that no one 
did — I don't myself. But the Important 
thing is that they put up with It. The streets 
are not deserted and they are calm. 

He had to admit that this was quite true, 

[ 14 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

and even to confess that London was much 
sadder than Paris. Well, for that matter, it 
always Is, even In peace times. 

The Germans celebrated my return home 
by an air raid on Thursday night. It seemed 
to be directed toward Paris, but it did not get 
there, although it did some smashing work 
in the suburbs. They seem to be giving 
Paris a long rest, but we hear of them every 
day at Calais or Dunkirk or Boulogne, and 
even at Rouen. We are having the kind of 
nights that we used to call Ideal for them — 
moon bright, air clear. But we have learned 
since then that all weather Is the same for 
them — except rain or snow. They came 
over us again last night, and for an hour the 
barrage was diabolical. I always tell myself 
that I will lie quietly in bed. But it Is impos- 
sible. I simply can't. So I get up, put on a 
wrap, and sit on the edge of the bed, and try 
to read by the light of a small electric lamp. 
Last night it was evidently not Paris for 
which they headed, for when I put out my 
little lamp, and looked out, I could see the 
searchlights getting themselves tangled up 
in the sky trying to spot the Boche, whom 
I could hear east of us, although I could not 
see him. 

On the nth, I had the pleasure of seeing 
thousands of German prisoners marching 
over the hill In the direction of Paris. I 
happened to be on the road when I saw the 

[ 15 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

head of the column coming round the curve 
at the top of the hill. As the line stretched 
out I wondered what it was, and then I saw 
people running toward the road from the 
fields. When I saw the round caps and 
green coats I realized that it was the prison- 
ers being brought in from the American sector 
and I stopped the cart to watch them pass. 
We have seen a good many German prisoners 
here, but never before anything like that. 
It was an army marching four abreast — 
officers as well as men, swinging their arms 
as they came on in perfect order. Here and 
there on either side of the road marched a 
poilu, with his gun on his shoulder, and along 
the road the peasants stood gazing at them 
with silent, Indifferent curiosity. No one said 
a word or made a sign. Once or twice a 
military automobile passed carrying an of- 
ficer toward the front, and I noted that he 
never so much as raised his eyes or turned 
his head to look at them. I suppose he was 
more used to seeing them than I was. 

I wish you could see my woodpile. I have 
been gathering it from anywhere and every- 
where since last spring. I propose to be 
warm this winter, and that my house shall 
look gayer than It has in the past four years. 
Great fires will *' up my chimney roar,'' 
though I don't expect the stranger will find 
much in the way of a feast on my board. I 
regret to tell you that they are cutting the 
[ i6 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

trees on the canal, which changes the out- 
look from the lawn. Still, as it opens spaces, 
through which I can see more of the Marne 
than I used to, it does not make it any the 
less pretty. I hated to see the trees fall, 
but still as it was being done, I bought my 
share, and the refugies are getting it in for 
me. It is getting to be a very handsome 
woodpile, but I am paying for it by the pound 
■ — it really is that, though it looks better as 
they put it "by the hundred kilos" so you 
do not need to be told that something else 
beside great fires are going to roar up my 
chimneys. Anyway, when you think of me 
this winter, you can think of me as warm, and 
the house as cheery and comfy. 



[ 17 ] 



11 



August 30, iQiS 
I HAVE had a rather exciting fortnight 
since I last wrote you. To begin with, the 
war movements have kept us keyed up to con- 
cert pitch every day. But I imagine that Is 
the normal condition of the whole world. 
I am sure that you in the States must have 
been keenly feeling the situation, and per- 
haps more than we do, since it Is new to you. 
With our boys out there fighting like demons, 
and already on the Vesle, with that pocket 
between the Marne and Vesle cleared out, 
with the French In the outskirts of Noyon, 
with the Australians before Peronne, we 
are feeling uplifted, but I know that on your 
side of the ocean, where the casualty lists are 
a new experience, you are probably less calm 
than we are, who are so used to it. 

I cannot find exactly the right words to 
express the absolute calm which reigns here. 
It seems at times almost unnatural to me. 
I can't quite understand It in myself. I sup- 
pose it must be explained by the four years 
of suffering, and perhaps relief from a sort 
of subconscious fear, to which no one was 

[ 18 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

willing to confess, and to the appalling — 
there Is no other word for It — sacrifices 
which the French have had to make. Calm 
seems to be fixed on them all, and, as it is 
contagious, I seem also to fall under It. 

I have often thought — I may have said 
this to you before — it is so hard for me to 
keep track of what I write — that the French 
will never fully realize their losses in their 
naked truth until the army comes marching 
back. Only then, I fear, when women and 
children see other men return and their own 
not in the ranks, will a full understanding 
come to them. Do you realize — but of 
course you can't — that there are women 
about me here whose men v/ere reported 
" missing" in the first terrible days of August 
and September, 19 14, and who confidently 
hope to see them return? That happened 
in 1870. Why not again? Some of these 
hopes may be justified, but alas, how few! 
This time the work of the Red Cross at Ge- 
neva and the untiring effort of the King of 
Spain make one feel that, except under most 
extraordinary circumstances, the missing who 
have survived must have been mostly traced. 

I have had a queer experience since I 
wrote to you. It was almost an adventure, 
with elements which might be suggestive to 
a play-maker. I have hesitated about writ- 
ing it to you. Still, It may interest you, and 
it is an illuminating phase of war, a thing 

[ 19 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

which may happen often In any army, so here 
it is. 

In the afternoon of the 21st — that was 
Wednesday of last week — just before sun- 
down, I was going out of the gate to get 
Dick from Amehe's, where he had been 
having his supper with KikI, when I saw, 
coming up the hill from Voisins, a soldier 
wearing the American uniform. He was 
walking close to the hedge by my garden, 
and did not see me until he was almost at the 
gate. 

I ought to preface this by emphasizing, 
what you probably surmise, that any man 
wearing the American khaki Is a sort of 
little god for me, to whom all homage is 
due, and who has a perfect right to anything 
of mine, if he wants It. That they are not 
all en regie and perfect Bayards of heroism 
— sans peur et sans reproche — had never 
occurred to me. 

I had supposed that I still looked too 
American to escape detection from my coun- 
trymen. Evidently, however, my environ- 
ment colours me. At any rate, as he saw me, 
he stopped, smiled, pointed to a cigarette 
case I carried in my hand, pointed to himself, 
and with a marked Interrogatory tone said 
the one word : 

^'Cigarette?" 

"Of course, '^ I replied with a laugh. 
"Won't you come in?" 

[ 20 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

He looked at me, a bit dazed, and said 
in evident astonishment: "You speak 
English?" 

" Rather," I answered. 

"You're English?" 

" Not at all. I am as good an American 
as you are." And I held out the cigarette 
case, adding, " If you are out of smokes come 
In and let me fill your pocket. I always keep 
them for the boys of all the armies." 

After an Imperceptible hesitation he 
laughed and followed me Into the salon, 
where I gave him cigarettes and a light. 
Then, as was perfectly natural, I asked him 
to what branch of the service he belonged, 
because, while he was perfectly neat and 
well dressed, there was no Insignia on his 
uniform to show his division or rank. 

He said he was an aviator. 

Mind you, there were plenty of things 
about this interview which seemed clear to 
me afterward, but I must Impress it on 
you again that up to that day I would have 
taken the word of any boy In the Ameri- 
can uniform. I always have to learn by 
experience. 

It was quite natural for me to ask him 
where he came from. He answered without 
hesitation: "From Le B ," nam- 
ing a well known aviation camp, not far from 
Paris. 

I asked him where he had landed, and he 

[ 21 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

pointed to the east, and said : " Just over 
there." 

"At Quincy?" I asked, giving him the 
word quite naturally, and he nodded an 
acquiescence. 

As there is a broad plain there, where 
more than one aviator had made a landing, 
that sounded all right. 

He did not seem to be making much con- 
versation, so, to keep it up, I asked him some 
more questions. The first was, unfortu- 
nately, indiscreet — I asked him what he was 
doing here all alone. The instant the ques- 
tion was out of my mouth I knew that I had 
no business to ask It. So I was not surprised 
when. Instead of answering, he lighted a 
match and took another cigarette. Under 
the cover of which, and to conceal my con- 
fusion, I asked his name. 

He replied without hesitation that his 

name was Robert W , and volunteered 

the Information that his father was at the 
head of some big oil wells — never mind 
where. You will understand later why I am 
no more explicit. To my question as to what 
he did in civil life, he said that he was a 
chauffeur. "That is to say," he added, 
" I own several big cars and take rich people 
out on long joy rides." 

That sounded all right, and he looked the 
job. He was a tall, straight, well set-up lad, 
in, I judged, his early twenties. I couldn't 

[ " ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

be quite sure of his class — I often can't with 
Americans. The type I did not think about 
until later. While he seemed perfectl)^ frank, 
and was absolutely at his ease, he was not as 
talkative as most of the boys from home 
whom I have run across over here. I thought 
instinctively of the Marines I saw here, who, 
in two minutes, had told me all about home 
and family, their school days, their careers 
and their girls. He answered my questions 
with perfect ease and good nature, but I 
could not call him expansive. 

With no reason which I could explain I 
felt nervous, and disliked myself for it. It 
did not seem quite according to Hoyle that 
a boy of his age, belonging to the Flying 
Corps, with no flying Insignia on his collar 
or his cap, should be roaming about alone 
Inside the war zone. So I put to him what 
seemed to me the crucial question: *' Of 
course you have reported to the militaiy 
post?" 

''Oh, yes," he replied, "and I have an 
appointment with a French officer down 
there," and he indicated the direction of 
Volslns, from which he was coming when I 
first saw him. 

But," I said, "there Is no military post 
at Voisins." 

"All I know," he replied, "Is that I am 
to meet an officer there who speaks English, 
at nine o'clock." 

[ 23 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

It was at that time eight. I dismissed my 
doubts from my mind. What did I know 
about mlHtary matters, or secret missions 
or the habits of the Flying Corps? So, 
when he said to me : *' I wonder If you know 
where I could get a bed for the night?" 
adding " I can't get away until morning, and 
there seems to be no hotel about here," 
though, instinctively, I did not care to take 
him here, I said that my housekeeper could 
put him up, and I led him to Amelie's. 

All the children on the hill turned out to 
watch him go by, to gaze at him In admira- 
tion and salute him — an American soldier 
Is a hero to them. 

We found Amelle feeding her rabbits, and 
I said: "Amelle, let me present to you 

Robert W of the American Air service. 

He has just come down at Quincy, and wants 
a bed for the night. Will you please to make 
him comfortable, and give him his coffee In 
the morning? I presume he will want to get 
off early." 

So Amelle said, "certainly," and led him In 
to show him his room, asking me to explain 
to him that she would leave the door open, 
and a lamp on the kitchen table and he could 
come In when he liked. 

He thanked her prettily In English, which 
she smilingly pretended to understand — she 
did understand the Intention — and he walked 
back with me to the garden, where he sat 

[ 24 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

quietly, talking, practically about nothing — 
I could not afterward remember one thing 
he had said, except that the view was pretty 
— until a quarter to nine, when he bade me 
"good night" and strolled down the hill to 
Vdisins. 

As I looked after him, I noticed that he 
walked close to the hedge as he had done in 
coming up the hill. 

I came into the house, and, oddly enough, 
at once forgot all about him, nor did I again 
think of him until Amelie came in the morn- 
ing when she volunteered the information 
that he had come in at midnight, that he had 
taken a "big bath," and she had left him 
over his coffee, and he had a hearty appetite, 
and after a moment, she added: "I am 
afraid, Madame, that he had no dinner last 
night. Do you know that the poor lad has 
not a sou? He made me understand that 
when I showed him his breakfast tray — he 
emptied his pockets, nothing in them. He 
has not got even a revolver. I made him 
understand that he was to eat — I did not 
want his money. But isn't it a bit queer for 
an aviator like that to be flying around with- 
out a sou in his pockets ? " 

I rather thought it was. Still, I had seen 
Americans before with empty pockets, — 
some even whose pockets had been empty for 
months. 

I was still at the table, over my own coffee, 

[ 25 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

when he came Into the garden, and I told 
Amelle to send him in. He came and stood 
in the doorway of the dining-room, to thank 
me for my hospitality, and to ask me to con- 
vey properly his thanks to Amelie. His 
manner was absolutely correct. He assured 
me that it had been a great pleasure to en- 
counter a fellow countrywoman so unexpect- 
edly in a little French hamlet like this, and 
that it would be a joy to him to tell his chums 
at the camp about it, and that he hoped later 
to have the happiness of coming back to see 
me, and bringing some of the boys with him. 
Then he shook hands with me, and passed 
through the kitchen to shake hands with 
Amelie, and started down the hill toward 
Voisins. 

On the way out of the gate he met Louise 
coming In. It Vv^as a Thursday — her day for 
working In the garden. She was still at the 
gate, gazing after him when I appeared In 
the doorway. 

" Good morning, Madame," she said. 
"What's that chap doing here?" 

I explained that he was an American avi- 
ator who had come down at Quincy, and 
that he had slept at Amelie's, and was on 
his way back to his machine. 

Louise stared at me. Then she made one 
of those queer, derisive, upward jerks with 
her elbow — you know the gesture — and 
said, vAth an expressive grunt: "Not much 

[ 26 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

he is n't. No avion has landed at Quincy for 
weeks. Why that chap has been hanging 
around here for almost a week. He does n't 
care much to be seen — except by the women. 
I've been watching him, and I notice that 
whenever a soldier is in sight, or an automo- 
bile, he hides. I've seen him lying in bushes 
by the roadside. They say he can't speak 
more than two words of French. He has n't 
any money. He has eaten in half a dozen 
houses — welcome for his beaux yeux and 
his uniform, I suppose. Of course it is a fine 
thing to be a good-looking youngster in an 
American uniform, I can tell you, in these 
days, and plenty of the girls down below 
have been trailing round with that lad in the 
woods down on the Pave de Roize. All I 
can say is that he'd better look to himself if 
any of our boys come home en permission 
before he lights out." 

I stood perfectly aghast during this tirade, 
and once Louise is started nothing stops the 
torrent of words but lack of breath. You 
know there is nothing sentimental about 
Louise. All the suspicions against which I 
had struggled flashed through my mind with 
the rapidity of a cinema film. Behind them 
rushed things of which I had not thought. 
His name of four letters might be spelled 
in two ways — one English, one German, 
and both equally common in the States. His 
blonde good looks were distinctly German, 

[ 27 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

though of a type so familiar to us that we 
rarely think of its origin. 

To make the situation more tormenting 
for me I remembered that we had already 
been warned that German avians were land- 
ing spies behind the lines, and, for reasonsT 
which I dare not write you just now, the 
presence of a German spy here, at this mo- 
ment, would be rather — shall I say, 
annoying? 

I was terribly perplexed. This was a sort 
of dilemma I had never expected to encoun- 
ter. I had acted in perfect good faith in put- 
ting him up. Only you see there is a formal 
order against harbouring any passers-by 
whose papers have not been properly exam- 
ined and stamped by civil or military author- 
ities. I 'knew perfectly well that if he had 
not been an American I should have man- 
aged to see his papers. But with that idea, 
of which I told you, that anything in Yankee 
uniform was all right, I had accepted his 
assurance that he had seen the military com- 
mander and let it go at that. 

Of course I knew that he might be a de- 
serter — but then he might be the other thing. 
I hated the word deserter. I don't know 
which I had rather he turned out to be. 

It takes me much longer to tell you this 

than it did for me to decide what to do. I 

knew that, with the fondness there is among 

these simple people for the Americans, he 

[ 28 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

was sure of food and a certain kind of pro- 
tection until some accident brought him to 
the notice of the authorities, who are the 
very last persons to hear of this sort of thing. 
If he were a clever spy he would see all he 
wanted to and could wait about until the 
avion that landed him — if one had — could 
get him off. Having no money might be part 
of the clever game. 

"Amelie," I called out, as I ran to the 
house, "put Ninette into the cart. I am 
going for a little drive," and I hurried in, 
put a long coat over my morning dress, tied 
a big veil over my cap, and grabbing my 
gloves and whip, ran for the stable, and 
fifteen minutes after the lad had left my gate 
I was on my way to the military post at 
Quincy. I had to laugh at the idea of hurry- 
ing, for nothing, even the cry " the country is 
In danger," would hurry Ninette. 

I looked all along the road for the boy. 
No sign of him. As I approached the cha- 
teau, where I could see across the plain, I 
scanned it with my glass — there was no 
aeroplane in sight. 

At the military post I found the Major, 
and explained the situation. He took the 
story as seriously as I could ask. He walked 
excitedly up and down the room in deep 
thought before he said: "I am inclined to 
think the boy Is a deserter — there are a lot 
of them. You see an American deserter 

[ 29 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

seems to be a very special article. It is not 
that they desert from cowardice. They are 
not accustomed yet to military discipline. 
Sometimes they get ugly at being reproved — 
run away in a temper — don't realize what 
they are doing until it is too late — or — so 
I am told — most frequently of all, they get 
bored In camp and run away hoping to get 
to the front, and ' get in it,' as they call it. 
Then they get lost and turn up in odd places. 
Anyway, once they light out — for no matter 
what reason — they don't seem to know how 
to get back. As a rule we don't care to in- 
terfere. It is a matter for the American 
police. But, considering the situation here, 
I think we must know who he Is." 

So he rang up the gendarmerie at Esbly, 
and explained the case to the captain. That 
done, he said to me : " If the lad comes back 
to you, you had better take him in, without 
asking any questions, treat him exactly as 
you did yesterday — and manage to get word 
to me, and we will come and take him. Is 
he armed at all? " 

I told him that I thought not; he wore 
no revolver, and that Amelie had said that 
he had none. She had seen him turn out his 
pockets. So he said that was all right — 
there was nothing to worry about, — and 
he thanked me, and I came home, feeling 
anything but happy. 

I felt pretty certain that he would not re- 

[ 30 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

turn to my house, for, Innocent as he had 
found me of any suspicions, he had closed 
up his story so well that he had better not 
re-open it here. I could not help wondering 
what he had done between nine o'clock and 
midnight of the night before. Anyway, I 
felt certain that he would not risk a second 
visit even for a good bed and a breakfast. 
However, I hunted up a wheel, and a boy to 
ride it, if necessary, without explaining at 
all. 

At tea time Amelie remarked that Louise 
was evidently perfectly right about the boy, 
as she had seen him about three o'clock 
going across the field north of my garden, 
and had been told that he had spent a couple 
of hours in the garden of a retired French 
Commandant who lives in what we call the 
" Chateau de Huiry " — you know the largest 
house in a French hamlet Is always known 
as the " chateau," even when It Is only a 
modest villa. 

I was distressed, but I had to do my duty. 
So I trudged round by the road — I hated to 
do It — and asked the Commandant, who, 
in his shirt sleeves, was working In the gar- 
den, If the American boy had been there. 
The Commandant, a handsome old chap, 
who lives like a recluse, having nothing to do 
with his neighbours, — is a grumpy charac- 
ter. He answered that an American soldier 
had been there, but In a tone that said plainly 

[ 31 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

that it was none of my business. I explained 
that I wanted to see the lad, and asked him, 
in case he should turn up again, if he would 
be so kind as to let me know. 

I rather imagine the old chap had had his 
own suspicions aroused. If he had not, I 
don't know why he should have jumped at me 
as he did. He accused me of hunting the boy 
down. I was at some pains to explain the 
situation, which seemed to me simple — that 
no American soldier could hope to roam 
aimlessly about in the war zone without the 
risk of being, sooner or later, asked to show 
his papers. That was all I wanted. 

"You had him in your house yesterday," 
remarked the Commandant. "Why didn't 
you see them then? " 

I had to confess that I had been silly 
enough to accept the story he told, but that I 
found out afterward that it was untrue. I 
wanted to know why he had lied. 

"Are you afraid?" asked the Comman- 
dant. 

"A'fraldofwhat?" 

"You have only to lock your doors if 
you are afraid he will come back," he growled. 

" I am afraid he won't come back," I 
replied, "that's why I came here to ask you 
to send him to me If you saw him." 

"Well," he added, going back to his dig- 
ging, " I reckon he 's harmless." 

"That may be," I said, "but I think we 

[ 32 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

had better make sure of that. If his papers 
are in order it will not hurt him to show 
them. If they are not, then he is either a 
deserter or a spy. I propose to find out 
which, if I can." 

The Commandant snapped out something 
to the effect that it was an unpretty business 
for a woman to be hunting down one of 
her own compatriots, to which I made the 
obvious response : 

"That is just it. Is he an American? 
He is wearing the uniform, and all I want to 
know is whether he has the right to wear it. 
If he wore the bleu d'horizon I should leave 
him to your discretion." And I marched out 
of the garden, feeling as uncomfortable as 
possible. I had done what seemed to me my 
duty. I left it at that. 

However, before night I heard of him 
again. Louise stopped on her way back from 
the fields to say that he had his supper with 
one of her neighbors on the heights of Voi- 
sins. I had not told her that we were look- 
ing for him. I told no one, except the Com- 
mandant, and there was no danger of his 
telling any one. He never speaks to any one 
if he can avoid it. So it looked as if there 
were every chance of his hanging about until 
the gendarmes arrived. 

Early the next morning — before I was up 
— the Captain of the gendarmes knocked at 
my door. I slipped on a big coat and went 

[ 33 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

down to talk with him. He seemed inclined 
to think the lad was simply a deserter. So 
after he heard what I had to say he went on 
to Quincy to talk with the officers of the 
military post and the mayor. I supposed 
my part was done. 

But can you imagine anything more absurd 
than for a lad to desert in a warring country, 
when he does not speak a word of the lan- 
guage, and without a sou in his pocket? 
The boy was intelligent, you know. It 
seemed to me pretty terrible for him, and if 
he were a deserter, it seemed to me the 
sooner he was run down the better for his 
own sake. 

I tried to dismiss the thing from my mind, 
but I was not allowed to, for in the afternoon 
the mayor sent word, asking me to meet 
him, at an unfinished house at the top of the 
hill, at the Demi-Lune. That innocent- 
looking, apparently empty house conceals a 
military post with telephone, telegraph, 
rockets for signalling, and inside, day and 
night, there is a guard of soldiers. There 
was no one but me here who could act as in- 
terpreter if they ran him down. 

There, before the telephone, in an empty 
room with stacks of guns, and huge rockets 
standing in the corners, we sat for an hour 
trying to find some trace of where the boy 
came from. The aviation camp at Le B — 
had no record of any such person as Robert 

[ 34 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

W , name spelt either way — and no 

aviator was missing who corresponded to 
our description of him. So we ended by 
calling up the headquarters at Meaux, and 
reported the case, and I walked home. 

Half an hour after I left the post the 
lad was discovered lying at his ease against 
the bank behind that empty house, under a 
wall eight feet high built on top of the bank, 
which Is steep. He was not fifty feet from 
the open window beside which was the tele- 
phone at which we had been talking. Four 
soldiers had tried to creep up on him, but he 
saw them and did a pas de gymnastique 
which was a brilliant success. He sprang at 
the wall, from what must have been a mis- 
erable footing, and went over. Not one of 
the French soldiers could follow, and there 
being no gate on that side, they had to make 
a wide detour, and although they sprinted 
for It, by the time they were around, he had 
disappeared. 

That was the end of his being seen about 
here. He had understood that he was 
wanted. All sorts of rumours flew about 
when it was known that the gendarmes from 
Meaux and Esbly were after him. Some 
said he was hiding in the woods on the canal, 
where the Uhlans hid In September, 19 14, 
when the Yorkshires and Bedfords were here 
before the opening of the first battle of the 
Marne. All sorts of suspicions were afloat 

[ 35 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

regarding a girl who was supposed to be 
going Into the woods at night to feed him, 
which would have been easy to do. There 
were even people who claimed to have heard 
the Boche avion arrive in the night to take 
him off. Anyway, he had vanished into 
space, and apparently left no trace, and im- 
agination being a French quality, no one 
wanted the incident to end tamely, as It 
seemed to have done. 

Then, suddenly, one morning, we heard 
that he had been caught, and put Into the 
prison at Esbly, until the American Mili- 
tary Police could take him over. Almost the 
next minute we heard that he had broken 
out of prison the first night, and the gen- 
darmes were after him again. Twenty- 
four hours later they had caught him 
again. 

And that's all. 

I am glad that I am a long way off, so that 
you can't throw anything at me. 

No, I don't know whether he was a de- 
serter or a spy, and I don't know what be- 
came of him. I didn't like not being able to 
have any sequel to the incident any better 
than you will. 

The next time I met the mayor I took the 
liberty of asking about it. He shrugged his 
shoulders and spread out his hands — that 
was all. I got for my pains. I felt as if I had 
been to see an exciting melodrama, and been 

[ 36 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

told when the curtain fell on the fourth act 
that the fifth act had been lost and the au- 
thor was dead. It was more irritating than 
"Edwin Drood," and only interesting to 
you as showing the sort of thing that can 
happen in a thinly populated country in these 
days when the smallest incident out of the 
common gets projected into great visibility. 
One can hide in a city. It is difficult in the 
country. 

Apart from that nothing Very exciting 
has happened here. We are still kept aware 
of the continued activity of the Germans in 
the air by an occasional barrage In broad 
daylight, which is a novelty, and evidently 
means that the Boche observers are trying 
to photograph, although why, at this late 
day, they should be observing so far behind 
the lines is hard to understand, unless some- 
thing is going on of which we are ignorant. 
We saw something rather unusual on the 
morning of the 2 2d. I was In the garden at 
the top of the hill cutting flowers. Suddenly 
the guns at the forts at Chelles and Vaucluse 
began to bark — the guns of the D.C.A. 
have a very different sound from any others. 
I straightened up and looked off to the west, 
just as Amelie appeared In the kitchen door, 
and called: "A barrage! Come into the 
house this minute." 

Before I could obey Abelard came running 
down the hill, calling, as he pointed into the 

[ 37 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

air: *'Just over the house. Look quick — 
there they are ! " 

I looked up, and there, high in the sky, 
right over the salon chimney, a group of 
round white puffs were widening, thinning 
and floating away, like fluffs of cotton wool. 
While I was watching them, fascinated by 
the idea, that right over us, invisible to 
our naked eyes, a German avion had passed 
pursued by the shrapnel from the fort, came 
a second volley, and a little to the north of 
the fading white puffs floating so innocently 
over us, a second group appeared, and began 
to swell and float, and then a third one, still 
more to the north, and we realized that the 
invader was making for the frontier — and 
had escaped. 

It was a lovely morning. I cannot tell 
you what a strange sensation it gave me to 
stand out there in the sunlight, looking over 
such a peaceful scene, and up into such a 
pretty sky, and to see those soft white balls 
floating away, and realize what it meant. We 
have seen the same thing several times since, 
and once on a cloudy day, when the bursting 
shrapnel projected against the white clouds 
looked almost black. Alas ! we have never 
seen a machine brought down. The only 
explanation of an experience like this so late 
in the war is a tremendous amount of move- 
ment on our roads. 

I am planning to go to Versailles again for 

[ 38 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

at least one Sunday. The place is still full 
of American soldiers, but there are com- 
paratively few visitors. So it is an ideal 
time to go. I shall not go before next week 
and shall be back by the first of September. 



[ 39 ] 



Ill 



September 12, IQ18 

It seems to me that I have been terribly 
busy since I last wrote to you, yet I cannot 
truthfully say that I have accomplished a 
great deal. Perhaps it is because I move 
about so much more freely than I used, that 
I feel busier than I really am. Now that the 
Commander of the Fifth Army gives me a 
sauf conduit good for three months, and I 
can, for the first time in over three years, go 
wherever I like, quite freed from all the for- 
malities and red tape that so long made 
leaving my gate difficult, it may be that I feel 
as if I moved round more than I really do. 

I came back from Versailles on the first, 
as I told you I should. I brought a visitor 
with me — an American journalist — the 
very first person who has succeeded in get- 
ting a permit to come here for many long 
months. The power of the Press is mighty. 

I don't believe you can imagine what a 
great event a visitor was for us. We have 
had callers — military, usually — but this 
was our first visitor since 191 5, — unless I 
call officers who are cantooned here visitors. 

[ 40 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

The event had Its humorous side — and 
the humour was consoHng. 

When I went to Paris, on the afternoon 
of August 30th, I left the hill looking quite 
warlike. When I came back forty-eight 
hours later, it was as if a wand had been 
waved, with the talismanic " presto-change ! " 
Every sign of military operations had dis- 
appeared. I can't tell you the impression 
the change made on me, but I am sure you 
can realize how wonderfully comforting it 
was, since the change and the calm said "All 
goes well at the front." 

Of course, as the man from New York 
had come down to sniff at the war zone, it 
was really rather a joke on him. He thought 
the joke was on me. 

One thing, at least, it does allow me — 
that is the chance of explaining to you why 
we were so disturbed by the presence here 
of a possible spy, of which I wrote you in 
my last letter. 

For many, many weeks, as I told you in the 
summer, our road has been given over to 
the army movements. It Is the direct road 
to Rheims, Solssons, and Chateau-Thierry, 
Verdun, and many other points on the front. 
Over It thousands of American as well as 
French troops have passed on the way to the 
Marne. In fact It had become what the mili- 
tary calls a ^^ Route Gardee^^^ — patrolled 
and picketed. 

[ 41 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

All the way from St. Germain to Meaux 
about every thirty yards, on both sides of the 
road, tall posts held up huge signs on which 
in large letters were printed the words : 

ROUTE GARDEE ROUTE GARD6E ROUTE GARDEE 
TENEZ a DROITE °^ NE STATIONNEZ PAS °^ NE DOUBLEZ PAS 

At the entrance to St. Germain, at Couilly, 
at Quincy, as well as at the top of our hill, 
big board signs bore the name of the town, 
at the entrance of the town on the right hand 
side of the road, and at the exit on the left, 
while big arrows indicated the direction of 
Paris, Meaux, Melun, Coulommiers, — all 
done In characters so big that drivers of 
flying automobiles, so many of them stran- 
gers and travelling by maps, could read, 
without slackening speed, v/here they were 
and whither they were headed. Signs 
printed with equal clearness Indicated at 
the entrance to each town the presence of 
a military post, and the location of repair 
shop, the doctor, the military hospital, the 
cantine, and the commander of the post. 
But for that matter all France, from the 
entrance to the war zone to the front, is 
similarly ornamented, and many of the 
roads resemble the approaches to a circus 
ground. 

More Important than all here was the fact 
that, at the foot of our hill. In the yard of 
the railway station, was a huge ammunition 
park, and, at the corner, where the road 

[ 42 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

turns off to approach the front of the station, 
and at the entrance to the station-yard, were 
huge signs, painted red and blue in triangular 
sections, on which in white letters — making 
the tricolors, — with a huge hand pointed 
into the station-yard, — were the cabalistic 
initials which told the camion drivers that 
this was an ammunition depot for both heavy 
and light artillery. 

To and from the front, by night as well 
as by day, ever since the big offensive began, 
heavy camions and lorries have rushed up 
and down the hill, making it more than 
usually difficult for us to use the road. You 
can judge from this that it hardly seemed 
comforting to me to think of a possible 
spy being around, and that will explain to 
you why I was a bit nervous over the possi- 
bility when the roving American soldier, 
about whom I wrote you, turned up here. I 
had a vision of what Couilly would look like 
if a flyer let fall a bomb on the railway sta- 
tion one night, as one did on La Ferte-sur- 
Jouarre in July. 

I did not dare explain this to you in my last 
letter. This time I risk it. This was the 
condition when I started for Paris, en route 
for Versailles. But, thank the gods, things 
have changed since then. 

Oh, before I forget it, I must tell you 
something — the sort of thing for which ygu 
are always so eager — about our boys. The 

[ 43 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

truth Is, I never see one of them strolHng 
along the road — just out for a walk from 
some near-by camp, — that I don't feel it to 
be my duty to take a snap shot of him for 
you. But, alas I no camera is allowed in the 
war zone. 

You must know that whenever I go to the 
station to catch a train I always arrive at 
least half an hour ahead of time. I have to 
make a big allowance for fear that the road 
may be full of camions, and that I may have 
to make a detour by way of Moulignon. It 
is a much prettier road, but it is half as long 
again. I never mind waiting for the train, 
as there Is always something going on at the 
station, and it is rare that I do not find some 
American boys there, 

I am always — every day of life — thank- 
ful that I am an old white-haired woman. 
It gives me the blessed privilege of being able 
to speak to them, and risk no misunderstand- 
ing. I simply love to see their faces light up 
at the sound of a greeting in English. They 
give one look of surprise, and then they 
simply drop to it, with a comprehensive 
glance at the tiny American flag which I wear 
In honour of the Chicago woman who sent It 
across the big pond to me, and the Insignia 
of the Red Cross under It, which Is all the 
introduction I need. 

As usual, the other morning, a number of 
French poiliis and young girls of the village 

[ 44 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

were standing about, watching a group of 
Americans. They — the French young 
people — are always tremendously Interested 
in the Americans, and by a sort of free-ma- 
sonry, they seem to manage to carry on a 
sort of conversation, consisting principally 
of gestures and laughs. One thing that al- 
ways surprises and amuses the French is to 
see the American, before he gets down to 
business, strip off his coat and roll his 
shirtsleeves up to his elbows. There they 
were this morning — although the day 
was far from warm — In their thin khaki 
shirts, with their sun-bronzed arms bare. 
You 'd never catch a French soldier taking 
off his jacket, although theirs are heavier 
and longer and more cumbersome than those 
worn by our boys. I am told, so strong is 
the habit, that at the front, many of the 
Americans stripped off their coats and threw 
them away before going over the top, and I 
can believe it, can't you ? 

A group of American ca^nion drivers 
stood near the station door, as I. drove up. 
They turned to watch Ninette with amuse- 
ment, then gave a quick start of surprise, 
when I offered them the conventional greet- 
ing: *'Hulloa, boys," and they simply 
beamed on me. As I climbed out of the 
little cart they came forward to shake hands. 

A round-faced lad — a real mother's boy 
— said: ^'You're an American?" 

[ 45 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

I said that I was — from Boston. 

"How long have you been over?" he 
asked, with a glance at the Red Cross pin. 
I told him that I was afraid that I had been 
over considerably longer than he had. 

"You poor thing," he said. "When are 
you going home?" 

I told him that I did not know, and some- 
how I did not add "perhaps never!" 

" Lord," he sighed, " I wish you 'd go 
to-morrow and take me with you." 

"Oh," I said, "I'm sorry you don't like 
It at all. I had hoped you boys would like 
It a little — just enough to make you glad to 
have seen It." 

" Oh, It 's all right enough, I suppose. The 
country is pretty, but I don't seem to hanker 
for anything just now but good little old 
United States," and he cast a wistful look 
toward the west, as if out there he could see 
it. I felt that I ought to be able to find the 
right word unless I wanted to see him water 
the sentiment with a few good old American 
tears. I must confess that I did not hit It as 
vv^ell as I might have, when I said : 

" Oh, well, you may be going back to It 
sooner than you dream. Besides, only think 
how they are all adoring you over there, and 
all the girls are preparing to go quite mad 
about you when you go home, and the whole 
country will give you such a home-coming 
greeting that it will have been quite worth 

[ 46 ] 



When Johnny Coimes Marching Home 

while to have gone overseas for the joy of 
being so cheered as you will be when you 
march down Broadway again." 

He looked vaguely west again, and almost 
choked as he replied, with an attempt 
to smile: "Lord! That will be a great 
day, won't it? Wonder if I '11 be there? 
There are more ways than one of ' going 
west.' " 

Luckily, one of his comrades clapped him 
on the shoulder before I could reply, and 
answered: 

" You bet you '11 be there. We all shall,'^ 
and then we all laughed. It was the easiest 
thing to do. That was the first case of this 
sort that I had ever met. I assure you that 
a great many of the boys are having the 
time of their lives, and are laying up ad- 
ventures and hoarding memories which will 
affect their whole existence, In spite of the 
fact that the majority of them still have their 
eyes fixed on home. I only tell you this, 
just as I told you the story in my last letter, 
because you are always asking for such 
anecdotes. 

Well, that was the way I left things when 
I went down the hill. When I returned and 
led my New York visitor up the hill — 
everything was changed. Every sign of war 
had disappeared as if by magic. The am- 
munition park had gone. The Route Na- 
tionale was no longer guarded. The big 

[ 47 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

signs along the roadside had been taken 
down — all save those indicating the names 
of the towns and the directions. The mili- 
tary post was no longer here. As we drove 
up the hill we did not meet a single automo- 
bile, let alone a camion. There was no sign 
that there was a war, or had ever been one. 
A few old men and women were working in 
the fields. Otherwise the countryside looked 
absolutely deserted. I was dumbfounded. 
I never said a word, but I could actually feel 
my visitor's mind going round. He did not 
venture a remark until we drove up to the 
gate. Then, as he helped me out of the 
cart, he gave a great big guffaw, and said 
two words: "You humbug I" 

Now, I ask you, wasn't that cruel? 

Amelie, who makes no secret of her relief 
over the situation and is only afraid that it 
may be temporary, said: '^Well, evidently 
the bon Dieu said 'Look out! There is a 
New York man who has no business down 
here in the war zone. Get everything out 
of sight, quick, so that he can't go back and 
talk about things which are none of his 
business.' " 

Not only were all signs of war wiped out 
here, but during the two days he remained 
the heavy artillery was silent. Consequently 
he had a quiet visit and I am afraid he was 
disappointed. I felt that he did have some 
just claim to be so. 

[ 48 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

I had hoped to divert him. So the next 
day I took him across the Marne to show 
him the big surgical hospital, and introduce 
him to some of the brave women who have 
been there so long. 

When the car which was to take us across 
the plain was at the gate, I asked which road 
we should take — that through Meaux, or 
by Esbly and over the new bridge by the way 
of Trilbardou. He replied at once : 

'' Oh, by Meaux, of course. That will be 
more interesting. So many of our boys have 
been there." 

So by Meaux we went. 

I had only hesitated because, although 
Meaux is a sort of joke to the French ever 
since the great success of ^^ Madame et Son 
FilleuV at the Theatre du Palais Royal, 
dating back to the days before it was ever 
bombarded, it is usually terribly crowded. 
The last time I had been there it was full 
of troops and camions, so that it was not a 
pleasant experience to get across the town 
from the Marne to the route de Senlis. But 
on that day I found Meaux as much changed 
as the Hilltop. It was like a sleeping village 
— streets empty — most of the civilians had 
gone during the spring offensive and many 
had not returned — no camions, almost no 
soldiers, except those from the hospitals. 
We slipped through the silent streets, under 
the railway bridge, out into the open coun- 

[ 49 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

try. Then we looked at one another and 
laughed. 

If my New York friend had wanted to 
take another rise out of me I should have 
been perfectly willing. My heart simply 
sang within me. Never since 19 14 had 
Meaux looked like that. To me it said 
plainly, as if written in big letters on all the 
trees rushing by us on either side of the road, 
that the retreating battle front was, so far 
as we were concerned, definitive. I drew 
long breaths and enjoyed myself, feeling that 
we, who have by turns, for so many weary 
months, been " zone des arniees " or " arriere 
front,'" were at last liberated. I regretted 
a little that I had nothing exciting to show 
my visitor, but for myself it was a relief. 
Of course I know that in some ways much 
will not be changed for us, but I know also 
that, even if the fighting goes on until next 
spring, much that has been so hard is done 
for me. I may have more nerve-trying 
things to stand, but not the old things. You 
have often accused me of being so much in- 
side the clock that I can't tell the time of 
day. I wonder if I am now? 

I found Juilly also much changed since 
my last visit there, over a year ago — only 
in a different way. 

During the tragic days in May and June, 
when most of the hospitals nearer the front 
had to be evacuated, Juilly took on a new 

[ 50 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

Importance. There the American Red Cross 
accomplished one of Its most brilliant feats. 
JuUly had been a private enterprise, financed 
entirely, I have been told, by a well-known 
New York woman. The Red Cross took It 
over during the big German offensive, and 
turned a hospital of some three hundred 
beds Into a fully equipped hospital of a thou- 
sand or more beds, and practically accom- 
plished It — getting beds, operating room, 
material and personnel Into working order 
— in forty-eight hours, right In the heat and 
excitement of the terrible battles. There the 
operating rooms worked day and night dur- 
ing the German advance, menaced for weeks 
with the possible necessity of having, In their 
turn, to retire on Paris. With the sound of 
the battle in their ears, with the ambulances 
coming in every day with their sad loads of 
wounded and dying, the guns of the barrage 
barking every night, and the Boche avians 
whirring over their heads, these brave doc- 
tors and nurses, with their kits packed ready 
for marching orders, worked on, expecting 
every hour to have to evacuate. 

I remember that I wrote to you long ago 
about Juilly, and how the college gave up its 
big dormitories to the hospital, and how the 
students were crowded Into other parts of 
the huge buildings of the old Oratorlen mon- 
astery school, and slept even in the cele- 
brated Salle des Busies. Of course, when 

[ 51 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

the attack of May 27 began the students 
and the children were at once removed, and 
the American Red Cross took over the whole 
place. 

Even the Salle des Busies had been taken 
over — that noble, lofty, long room, running 
back into the beautiful park, with Its long 
line of tall windows, with dark red draperies 
on either side, with its wide steps leading 
down from the estrade across one end, its 
wide glass doors at the other end giving oq, 
a stone terrace, from either end of which 
leads a balustraded flight of steps with a 
great sweeping curve down into the park, 
almost opposite the statue of Ste. Genevieve. 

My ! But that was a long sentence ! So 
much for trying to get lots into a few words. 

When I was at Juilly last year this long 
hall was a school dormitory, with four lines 
of narrow beds, each with a red and white 
cover to harmonize with the prevailing tone 
of the room. The other day I found it 
turned into a white hospital ward, and In Its 
narrow white beds were wounded Ameri- 
cans. As I walked down it toward the ter- 
race where the convalescents sat In all sorts 
of long chairs looking out over the park, I 
thought how many Americans In the future 
would make pious pilgrimages to this place, 
of which, In the past, so few Americans ever 
heard. 

But the view over the park Is even more 

[ 52 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

changed than any other part of the place. 
It Is now sprinkled with long brown tents, 
for there is a big military post there. 

The commanding officer — a Southerner 
— was so kind as to walk through the camp 
with us, so that we could see it all without 
feeling like intruders, and I am able to sat- 
isfy your curiosity by telling you exactly how 
some of our boys, not yet in the fighting line, 
are living in France, and also to relieve your 
mind by assuring you that they are not a bit 
militarized yet — they still remain camou- 
flaged — just civilians in uniform, doing 
their monotonous duties cheerfully, but not 
over much gene by etiquette — officers no 
more than men. 

For example, as we entered each long tent 
such of the boys as were inside sprang to 
their feet and stood at attention. Each 
time the officer — he was young — actually 
blushed, sort of side-stepped (I was willing 
to bet he was a dancing man), and with a 
half-embarrassed movement of his hand said, 
"All right, boys. Sit down," and down they 
dropped. I was equally certain they all 
called each other by their first names when 
no one was listening. 

There were a number of these tents.placed 
end to end, with a curtain as a separation. 
Sometimes there was a slight angle from the 
straight line, but the effect to me was of a 
long room lengthened by mirrors. We 

[ 53 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

walked along a wide aisle, and on either side 
was a line of beds, heads to the sides of the 
tents, — such a variety of beds. Here and 
there was a real Iron bedstead, now and then 
a camp bed; sometimes the bed was two tres- 
tles with a board across, again It would be 
a long, wide, rudely made box — a bit too 
reminiscent of a broad, lldless coffin — full 
of straw. I said to a boy sitting on one of 
these, '' Reckon you made that yourself?" 
He grinned and replied, " Yes, ma'am." 
It was an awfully good-looking crowd of 
boys, and I am sure that most of them had 
been accustomed to spring beds and hair 
mattresses. Yet not one of them looked as 
if he minded It or was any the worse for 
roughing It. After all. It Is no worse than 
camping out, and I never knew a worth-while 
boy who did not adore that. 

As I walked along the hard soil of the 
aisle between the beds, I could not help 
thinking how many women there were In the 
States who would have loved to be, at that 
minute. In my shoes. But I was being cere- 
moniously escorted by the commanding offi- 
cer, and I felt shy about stopping to chat 
with the lads. I did not know what the eti- 
quette of the situation was. I was sure that 
there was a protocol. So I shed my smiles 
all along the way, and hoped it might occur 
to some of the youngsters that I was a sort 
of proxy for home or mother, — or even the 

[ 54 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

girl he left behind him, — for youth was the 
predominant note in the whole crowd. I 
suppose that impressed itself on me espe- 
cially, because today the French poilu is 
rarely young. The idea came as a sort of 
shock that, after four years of fighting, the 
youth of France lies buried on her battle- 
fields; he has passed the torch, with a tragic 
forward movement, to his elders, and today 
it is the middle-aged who are carrying the 
sacred flame of the future and keeping it 
alight until the children growing behind them 
can hold it up. 

You would have loved to see the huge 
kitchens — under a big tent — where white- 
capped soldiers were cooking over big 
ranges, while outside the door, under the 
trees, one of them was stirring, with a big 
wooden spoon almost as large as a snow 
shovel, in a cauldron bigger than that in 
which Macbeth's witches made their magic, 
spells, a savory smelling mess — I presumed 
it to be a giant Irish stew. I tried not to 
remember that only a few days before an 
American youngster had said to me, " When 
I go back if the mater ever dares to offer 
me a mess of boiled beef I shall strike." 

We strolled through the park and back to 
the hospital. In the park it was all like a 
huge picnic. Some of the boys were doing 
carpenter work. Some of them were playing 
ball or tennis. Some were simply lying on the 

[ S5 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

ground. It was only on returning to the hos- 
pital, where we met some boys who had been 
lying outside for air, being carried in on 
litters, that the park showed any signs of war. 

But I can't tell you how very unmilitary 
our boys succeed in looking. They are in 
uniform, but there Is nothing military about 
them. They salute in a half-apologetic way 
as If to say, *'Good Lord, I hope that's all 
right." There Is no rigidity in their bearing 
or their gait. I fancy that little by little 
they'll get It, and It Is certainly not surpris- 
ing that It takes time, when you stop to think 
seriously of what our army Is made up. Im- 
agine being able to make a real soldier, with 
the bearing modern tradition has labelled 
" soldierly," In six months or a year out of 
a boy who has followed a plough all his life 
or bent over a desk. Is n't it lucky that none 
of these things have any Importance In fight- 
ing? I only mention it because when some 
of the clever men now over here write char- 
acter studies of the American Army, Ian 
Hay's narrative won't be a patch on the tales 
that will be told — In dialects from the down- 
east twang to the East-side Jew and the al- 
most non-English speaking recruit. The war 
farce writer has his work all cut out for him. 

The streets of Juilly looked to me as much 
changed as the hospital. The last time I was 
here most of the convalescent soldiers whom 
I met In the streets were French. I saw them 

[ 56 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

on crutches, or with their arms in slings or 
their heads bandaged, or saw them sitting 
in the sun against the walls. But this time 
there were nothing but Americans every- 
where. As soon as we approached the town 
we began to meet the boys in khaki — Amer- 
ican ambulances, American automobiles, 
American camions, and Americans on foot. 
The whole aspect of the town was changed, 
and I imagine it will be long before Juilly 
recovers her old look, — if she ever does. 
The big hospital has been there four years. 
It has cared for civilians as well as soldiers. 
There is a free cUnique, In addition the 
hospital has given work to the people of the 
town, as laundresses, cooks, cleaners and 
gardeners. So here, as in hundreds of parts 
of the country, France has undoubtedly had 
an Indelible mark put on her which will be 
more lasting than that made by the German 
guns — imprints stamped on the life as well 
as on the land, on the soul as well as on the 
body, on the race as well as on its spirit. 
Whether this Is for good or evil the future 
alone can show. One thing I fervently be- 
lieve to be possible — that Is, that the 
French, as a race, can face all this and as- 
similate It, and still be true to type better 
than almost any other people could. They 
have not been the banner bearers of the 
advance guard for so many centuries for 
nothing. 

[ 57 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

We made a quick, uneventful run back 
across the Marne just before sunset, and the 
next day I took my visitor down the still de- 
serted hill to the station at Couilly, and he 
went back to Paris; and the joke was that 
the next day — presto, change — and our 
roads were packed with camions again. 
Naturally no one knows what it means, but 
there are all sorts of rumours afloat regard- 
ing some big American move. I pay no at- 
tention, because I know that if there is any- 
thing on, that would be just the time when 
we should know nothing. 

On Wednesday we got the glorious news 
here that the British had retaken Mont Kem- 
mel and that a New York regiment had been 
with them. I don't know whether that is 
true or not, but by this time you do. Yet I 
doubt if the retaking of that little hill meant 
as much to you when you read the news as 
it did to us. How it made my heart jump 
back to those tragic days of the last week in 
April, when, after a desperate fight about 
that little elevation, the communique an- 
nounced that the Germans had broken 
through — Mont Kemmel was lost again, 
and with it the Germans had taken sixty-five 
hundred prisoners and hundreds of machine 
guns. That was In the thirty-five days of 
that terrible spring offensive of which the 
Channel was the German objective. The 
Allied counter-offensive failed. Then, on the 

[ 58 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

two following days — April 26th and 27th 
— the coimnuniqite announced that "calm" 
reigned on that secteur. 

" Secteur calme " is a great joke to a po'ilu. 
He usually gives a great " Ha-ha ! " if you 
use the words, then he explains that, as a 
rule, ^^ secteur calme^^ means we lost some- 
thing we don't care to talk about — yet. 

About this special two days of calm there 
hangs a strange story, which may or may not 
be true. The soldiers declare it is. It can't 
do any harm to tell it to you, — that is, if 
the censor lets it by. "They say" that at 
Mont Kemmel, on that fatal April 26th, the 
Germans actually had the Allied armies in 
the north beaten to a finish, and that there 
was not the smallest reason why they should 
not have gone right through to the Channel, 
as England expected them to do. No one 
seems to know why the Germans stopped, 
and during the two days announced as 
"calm," allowed the British to get their re- 
inforcements across, and hold up the ad- 
vance. Some say the Germans did not real- 
ize the full extent of their victory. Some say 
that they were alarmed, and being afraid of 
going into an ambushi, stopped to recon- 
noitre. Some say they had to stop to reor- 
ganize. Anyway, by a miracle again, Calais 
was saved. So you can Imagine how we 
rejoiced here on the morning of the 15th. 

To make the news more personal to us 

[ 59 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

I heard afterward that, but for the presence 
in England of a large number of our boys 
who are training there, England could have 
hardly in April combed out so quickly her 
army for Home Defence and sent such a big 
reinforcement to hold up the German push. 
England has always held a big home army 
to protect her coast against the never-be- 
lleved-In but not-altogether-impossible at- 
tempt of the Germans to make a landing. 
I should not be surprised if, at some future 
time, the British Navy had a story to tell on 
this matter which will give it quite a different 
colour. 

Since then every day has been a sort of 
^^ journee de gloire^ Since I wrote you we 
have seen historic Peronne change hands 
again, — Peronne best and most pictur- 
esquely known to most people in Scott's 
*' Quentin Durward," and to travellers as the' 
place of the captivity of Charles the Simple 
in the loth Century, and which long bore 
the reputation of never having 'been cap- 
tured. Poor Peronne I It has well outlived 
that fame. Wellington took it in 1 8 1 5. The 
Germans took It in January, 1870, and in 
this war it has suffered terribly, having 
changed hands four times. I don't suppose 
you remember the long agony with which 
we watched it being for weeks besieged after 
the German retreat of 19 17, only to be lost 
again in March. 

[ 60 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

Are you so busy following our own boys 
that you do not realize that the French and 
British are well across the HIndenburg line 
in the north, and that in the centre they are 
again approaching the tragic, desolate, bomb- 
torn Chemin des Dames? 

The Big Bertha has not tired for over 
four weeks. We still speak of it, but always 
with the conviction that it has had to retreat 
so far that Paris is out of Its range. No 
Gotha has visited Paris since June 27th — 
ten weeks. We still wonder what desperate 
attempt the chronic spirit of wilful destruc- 
tion may inspire the Boches to bring off 
before they give up. So we still take all sorts 
of precautions. 

I shall probably, after all, make one more 
trip to Versailles. I can live on the map 
there as well as here. Besides, I need a 
change to keep my nerves steady in these 
long days of waiting for the end. 



[ 61 ] 



IV 

September 26, 1918 

Hip, hip, hurrah, and several tigers, and 
with all my heart! 

The very day after I wrote to you last, 
I opened my morning paper, on the train, to 
read that the Americans had attacked the 
St. Mihiel pocket, in liaison with the French, 
from Les Eparges to Bois le Pretre, and, 
twenty-four hours later, at Versailles, we got 
the great news that our boys had taken St. 
Mihiel itself, that the pocket had been emp- 
tied, and that the attacking force had pene- 
trated the German line on a front of twenty- 
three miles to a depth of fourteen miles. 

Pictorially and sentimentally that was one 
of the most striking events of the whole war, 
and the excitement it caused showed that 
every one felt it in that sense. 

Although the great Chateau-Thierry bat- 
des, in which our boys played such a big 
part, and all the struggles between the 
Marne and the Vesle were much more costly 
in lives than this breaking down of the St. 
Mihiel position, it had no such thrilling ef- 
fect on the imaginations of us all as the 

[ 62 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

taking of St. Mihiel. We all received it here 
as though it were the first decisive victory 
in the war. 

The cleaning out of the salient between 
the Marne and the Vesle was every bit as 
important as the taking of St. Mihiel, but it 
was slow. The fighting of the French Ter- 
ritorials and the Americans at Chateau- 
Thierry, and that of the Americans in Bel- 
leau Wood, were probably marked with 
more acts of desperate daring and personal 
valour, but nothing has stirred the public 
feeling like St. Mihiel. In June, at Chateau- 
Thierry, the Germans were fighting in full 
preparation for a third great offensive, still 
absolutely convinced that they were going 
to get to Paris, and little dreaming that it 
was the untried American army, whose value 
as a holding as well as a fighting power they 
had not until then tested, which was going to 
prevent them, and in closing that road for 
the last time make an end of all their illu- 
sions of victory. 

At St. Mihiel it was a different matter. 
The Americans had been tried and proved. 
The emptying of the Vesle pocket had been 
a lesson. 

The Germans had held St. Mihiel from 
September, 19 14. It was a sharp thrust 
into the Allied front which all the efforts 
of four years had not been able to break. 
There the German fortified line crossed the 

[ 63 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

Meuse several times. From behind the town 
the heavy guns mounted in the old fort of 
the Camp des Romains commanded the line 
of the Paris-Metz railroad, and swept the 
main roads with their long range artillery, 
making transportation very difficult during 
the long battles at Verdun. 

We over here, who have been living on the 
map for four years, have had that sharp 
point in the front piercing our hearts as well 
as our eyes all these long months. To the 
north and east the line had wavered, but 
St. Mihiel held, and so long as it did no 
Allied offensive was possible between the 
Argonne and Lorraine. 

Early this month the most casual student 
of the war maps could see that with the 
French at Les Eparges and the Americans 
at Pont aux Moussons, St. Mihiel was threat- 
ened with encirclement, and that its fall, 
either by evacuation or by a tremendous 
battle, was inevitable. The result was half 
one, half the other — the Germans made a 
fighting retreat, In which they got away a 
great part of their big guns, but only at the 
expense of much hard fighting. 

I have always told you that In this war we 
Americans appear as a lucky people. Again 
the " times give It proof." There has been 
only one big battle of Chateau-Thierry, and 
only one taking of St. Mihiel, and both are 
scheduled as "great American victories," — 

[ 64 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

picturesque, decisive victories, which have 
impressed the French civilians as much as, 
if not more than, any other events in the war, 
except the rising up of Belgium. The battle 
of Chateau-Thierry and the fighting advance 
up the Vesle were a series of hard-fought 
battles, with tragic ups and downs — the 
baptism of fire of many of the boys from the 
States. St. Mihiel, even more decisive, was 
quick and sharp. The attack began at four 
o'clock in the morning of the I2th, and on 
the morning of the next day we knew that 
the attacking armies — French and Ameri- 
cans — had joined hands east of St. Mihiel 
the night before. Can't you imagine the mo- 
ment when the two armies sighted each 
other? I have not seen the French so stirred 
by anything since the war began. No one 
talked of anything else, especially when the 
afternoon communique announced that the 
Americans were already at Thiaucourt. 

Do you wonder that everybody speaks of 
nothing but "the Americans " just now? A 
French officer said to me on the train the 
other day: "You are a wonderful people, 
you Americans. I shall never forget the day 
when we were told at the front that the States 
had sent the message, ' Hold the line. We 
are coming — ten millions strong!' Why, 
you could see the poilu stilien his back, and 
close his lips firmly. I, myself, instinctively 
tightened my belt." So if only our boys re- 

[ 6s ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

turn the compliment with the modesty to 
remember all that had been done to prepare 
the way in four years of suffering and sacri- 
fice, why "honours are easy.'* 

In the meantime Metz is lying under the 
Allied guns. I can't imagine its being bom-' 
barded. It is a French town, coming back 
to the breast of its mother, and I hope not 
coming back too maimed, if it can be helped. 

Plenty of people are already crying 
" Peace." Every one longs for it, of course 
— but oh! do pray that it be not yet. We 
can only treat with a really beaten Germany. 
We cannot treat with a Germany who, recog- 
nizing that she cannot win, is willing to stop 
fighting to save herself. Before the order 
*' cease firing" is given, we must be on the 
Rhine with our guns commanding Germany, 
and the Allies must treat with a Germany 
who realizes, not only what the world thinks 
of her, but that she will have to accept the 
victor's terms — exactly as she would have 
imposed them had she won. The whole 
world knows what she intended to do with 
the victory she expected to win. She has 
made no secret of her ambitions. Any mis- 
taken kindness, any philanthropic considera- 
tion which is shown a predatory race like the 
Germans will only be looked on by her as a 
sign of weakness or fear. 

" Of course," I can hear you say, " I know 
what you want." I expect you do, and I have 
[ 66 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

no intention of denying it. I want to see 
them take a dose of their own broth — in- 
vasion. I want those who claim that the Ger- 
mans won't break to see what bad losers they 
will be. I know, of course, that their situa- 
tion is different from that of the Allies, who 
have fought a long and heroic battle with 
hope, while Germany will face invasion with 
the game absolutely lost, and nothing to hope 
for — except fooling her conquerors. 

When I came back from Versailles I found 
the tension here terrible. In spite of the fact 
that victory is in sight, and the news of every 
day inspiring, the people about me seemed 
more nervous than I have ever seen them, 
even when menaced with invasion. At first 
I could not understand it. Then one day a 
woman said to me: " Oh God! What shall 
I do if my man, who has been in a regiment 
de choc ever since the beginning, should be 
killed at the very end? " 

I had not thought of that, and it made me 
understand why so many faces about me are 
pale, and why the tension of these days is 
worse than the suspense of the days of 
uncertainty. 

All minor happenings are covered over by 
the excitement of the coming victory and its 
possible consequences, and, of course, in my 
case, by the knowledge that every hour is 
writing up in history the glorious deeds of 
valour that arc to shine in the archives of the 

[ 67 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

American Expeditionary Force. With all 
that has passed and all that is to come can 
you imagine how we should have felt, and all 
that it would have meant to the future of the 
race if the boys from the States had not come 
over seas to do their bit? 

I feel more every day, while I watch the 
old re;gime: — another old regime — going 
out, that there is an aristocracy of achieve- 
ment. I hope that every one with real heart 
and true sentiment will cultivate that idea, 
and that every family that has a boy over 
here — whether he returns to them or not — 
will be taught to believe in that new aris- 
tocracy, and to cherish and proudly hand 
down to future generations of the family the 
memory of the boy who fought in the Great 
War, and that every city and every town 
and village will have, in the French fashion, 
inscribed on the walls of one of its public 
buildings, the list of its heroes. Ours, at 
Quincy, covers one entire wall of the room 
in which the town council holds its meetings 
and the business of the commune is trans- 
acted. Every man, woman, or child who en- 
ters that room to get a war allowance, to draw 
a pension, to pay taxes, or celebrate a civil 
marriage, can read on the table d'honneur the 
name of the one of theirs who has died for 
France and humanity, — or been decorated 
for bravery, — -their title to distinction in the 
community. 
[ 68 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

One of the minor things which was almost 
driven out of my mind by the great events 
at the front was an air raid on the 15th, 
while I was at Versailles. It was a Sunday 
night. As I was getting ready for bed I re- 
marked that it was nice and comfortable to 
be able to lie down without listening for the 
tir de barrage, and I added, "After all, as 
most of the raids enter Paris from the north, 
I doubt if we should hear the guns from 
here." I had hardly got the words out when 
"bang-bang-bang" went the gims, and for 
an hour I sat on the bed listening to the 
familiar sounds in the northeast instead of 
the west. 

I heard, when coming through Paris on 
my way home, that bombs had fallen over a 
wide area from La Chapelle to the Passy 
entrance to the Bois, which explained why we 
heard it so distinctly at Versailles. 

I had to laugh at your calling me down for 
my careless remark in a July letter to the 
effect that Germany had waged a war more 
brutal than so-called barbarous times had 
ever seen. I take due and admiring note 
of the fact that you are reading " The 
Makers of History." All the same — I per- 
sist in the statement. In fact and in intention 
I believe exactly what I said. " Other days 
— other manners." What was merely bar- 
barous in the old days becomes simply mon- 
strous now, when everything man has learned 

[ 69 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

and all he had achieved has simply been 
made to serve destruction. Yes, I know all 
about the destruction of hundreds of thou- 
sands of Moors. I have read about the sack 
of Lille, the sack of Rome and several hun- 
dred other sacks. I know about long-ago 
Bulgarian atrocities, — and I could make a 
list several feet long. But if I were to let 
those facts stagger me I should have to re- 
call the religious cruelties of our forefathers 
on Boston Common, and little things of that 
sort, which we don't do now any more than 
we carry off Sabine women. Oh, no! In a 
world that claimed to be rising " on stepping 
stones of its dead self to better things" — 
pardon the paraphrase — it is beyond words 
abominable for any people to have waged a 
war with the avowed purpose of wiping out 
races to make room for the victor's expan- 
sion, and with such acknowledged contempt 
for the sacredness of life and liberty as to 
permit the war theory that the quicker women 
and children were killed the sooner it would 
be over, and the sooner the victor could en- 
joy the spoils. I never pretended that in 
fundamental passions the world has much 
changed, but its manners have, and — well, 
Germany is out of fashion and ill-bred and 
criminal. In fact she is indecent. One does 
not associate by choice with indecency. We 
may see other wars — we probably shall — 
or other epochs will if ours does not — but 

. [ 70 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

war is hardly likely to shock the world 
again as this one has. It has destroyed so 
many hopes, torn to pieces so many illusions ! 
Next time we shall know what to expect. 
None of us any longer blinds ourself to the 
truth that it is going to be pretty difficult to 
prevent war. Living is a struggle. Even 
family life is not free from it. In commer- 
cial life, if it is not often bloody it is terribly 
cruel. So long as nations are ambitious — 
and when they are neither ambitious nor 
proud apathetic chaos w'ill come — aggression 
cannot be prevented unless peace-loving na- 
tions are willing to sit still and let races like 
the Huns ride over them, and " turn the 
other cheek." I cannot conceive that noble 
theories can do anything but bind us up to 
wage the same sort of holy war we are finish- 
ing. They surely cannot prevent war so long 
as it is the finest virtue of the noblest men and 
women to feel that it is well worth while to 
resist evil, even if the price of resistance be 
death. 

Prisons and capital punishment have never 
prevented crime, but they have punished it. 
That is what the Allies have to do to Ger- 
many, and it must be a punishment she can't 
forget. Fear of death has never made a 
righteous man false to his ideals. I doubt if 
fear of war will ever make a nation worthy 
to survive when false to its principles. 

I consider the United States of America In 

[ 71 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

this war a living proof of that. When Wil- 
son was elected to his second term on the 
slogan " He kept us out of the war," and a 
month and three days after his inauguration 
was obliged by public opinion to declare the 
very war he had tried to avoid, you wrote 
me that " like the great statesman he was he 
had waited until he had the country behind 
him." I did not reply, as I might have, that, 
in the words of a very great American, the 
only men he had kept out of the war were 
Theodore Roosevelt (God bless him!) and 
Leonard Wood, nor did I trouble to speak 
my mind then — you were so dead in earnest 
— and say that I thought that you wronged 
your country, and that whoever had raised 
the Stars and Stripes when Belgium was in- 
vaded or when the Lusitania was sunk would 
have seen the nation flock as solidly under it 
as they did in April, 191 7 — for you know, 
my dear girl, they were not absolutely solid 
when called. I am afraid that I think better 
of my countrymen than you do. Unluckily, 
our outlook Is terribly narrow. Standing 
each on his little apex, we watch a limited 
horizon. We see the petty faults of the 
people near to us. We see the trying 
meannesses of politics. Our families are not 
always noble. Our governments are not in- 
corruptible. In these days of free speech 
our friends tear bandages off our eyes, and 
the public press does not encourage rose- 

[ 72 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

coloured spectacles, and we are so near that 
our visions rarely see over the little things 
right under our feet, and it took just the 
climax of these years to show what the world 
was, and especially of what stuff the States 
were made. The big general average has 
been absolutely splendid, and though we 
bring charges against our organization, 
though we cry " inefficiency " and " blunders " 
from now to the crack of doom, nothing will 
change the fact that the people — both those 
who fought and those who obediently de- 
prived themselves that the world might at 
least try to live — have done their part and 
done it magnificently. War is not all tragic, 
any more than dying is, and without this war 
the States would never have known them- 
selves, nor without it could they ever have 
been welded into the great world power they 
are yet to be. Let us pray for a little racial 
modesty to give us poise, and to help us real- 
ize that we no longer need to assert our- 
selves, that 's all. 

Now there 's my final word. Nail it up. 

We have been thrown back a long way in 
this war. We have been forced to take up 
the tools of evil to combat evil. Isn't it a 
pity that we can't throw back still farther to 
single combat, and God with the right? It 
would be quite chic also if we could have a 
well-kept international battle-field on which 
alone international disputes could be settled. 

[ 73 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

Yet where would be the use so long as there 
are people like the Germans, bound by no 
treaties, with no idea of honor, who would 
simply come and slaughter all of us civilians 
while our noble armies were occupied in try- 
ing it out a long way off? Besides, with the 
world so populated, where could you find 
a proper battle-field, since civilization — so- 
called — has crossed the last frontier? Half 
a century ago one might have said Sahara. 
But Hichens made Sahara fashionable, and 
the French, who own so much of it, are going 
to turn it into one of the gardens of the world 
in a century or less. 

In spite of all these exciting and perplex- 
ing thoughts I keep right on feeling that the 
sum of it all is — beauty. It took the very 
baseness of Germany to throw into relief, 
with a blazing halo around it, the courage, 
the willing self-sacrifice, the spirit of heroism 
of the races that have made of their living 
bodies a buckler at the cross-roads to save the 
soul of the world. " Fight for your altars 
and your hearths" is just as good a battle 
cry as it ever was, though it lives only as a 
symbol. We can't, even in these realistic 
days, cry " Fight for your pulpits and your 
central heat" without laughing at ourselves, 
but we do it just the same, and I imagine we 
always will. The idea is immortal — that 
does not go out of fashion, docs it? 

My ! What a long garrulous letter this is 

[ 74] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

getting to be! Poor you — who can't " sass 
back" for a whole month! 

One more thing — just to change the sub- 
ject and clear the air. It's about Versailles, 
and I have meant to tell you about it every 
time I have come back from there, and then 
I go and get myself all stirred up with theo- 
ries, and forget. I must do it now, as I have 
probably seen Versailles for the last time in 
its war array, and you will never see it under 
that aspect. 

I have already told you that the air raids 
have reached as far as there, but I am sure 
that I never told you that the town is full of 
abris in which the population took refuge 
whenever an alerte announced the approach 
of the invader of the air, and that the entire 
park and gardens are camouflaged. The 
most precious of the sculptured vases, the 
most valuable of the statuary, and all the 
most famous bronzes in the fountains have 
.been most carefully covered, not only to con- 
ceal them, but to protect them if possible. 
Looking down on the tapis vert side of the 
palace the park looks something like a huge 
Hottentot village of straw huts. 

You might think the effect would be ugly 
and disfiguring. It is not, although it is amus- 
ingly droll. You know the French could not 
do a thing like that without giving it an ar- 
tistic pat which would lend it a certain charm. 
Some of the big central bronze groups to the 

[ 75 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

large fountains have a flat, roof-like plat- 
form built over them, on which logs are 
evenly piled as one makes a wood-pile to dry, 
and on top of that Is a loose layer of faggots. 
The vases and small statuary have been cov- 
ered In with cone-shaped wrappers of straw 
and faggots, tied In a knot at the top, and 
resembling the straw protector of a precious 
bottle of wine. You might think It looked 
more like the head of a huge child with her 
hair tied on top of her head, preparatory to 
bath-time. Some of the groups are packed 
with earth and boxed in with an outer layer 
of faggots, over which a bath of plaster has 
been poured, giving the impression of elabo- 
rately cut stone. Time and the weather have 
toned down all this, and the wind has brought 
seeds from everywhere, and the coverings of 
the big fountains are aglow with flowering 
things — blue and yellow, pink and white — 
while soft trailing vines droop over the edge 
and wave In the breezes. I don't know how 
It would look to anyone who has not known 
It In all Its usual bravery, but to me It was 
just a new aspect, and still pretty — If not 
beautiful. 



[ 76 ] 



October 6, 1918, By the light of candles 
Well, I'd give a penny if you could see 
me. I feel as if I had thrown back to the 
days of my grand-dad. I am sitting up in 
the attic, with its sloping roof, two rough old 
beams, — worm-eaten, unpainted, seamed, — 
and cement floor. It makes me think of the 
unfinished attic in the old farmhouse at New 
Sharon, only there are no dried herbs hang- 
ing from the beams, there is no hand-loom at 
one end, and no big spinning-wheel. I am 
writing by the light of six candles arranged 
in a semi-circle about my typewriter, tryihg 
to consider that it is a sufficient illumination. 
Anyway, it is all we have. We never had 
gas or electricity, and our allowance of kero- 
sene is a pint a month, — and often we don't 
get that. Needless to say a pint of kerosene 
is hardly sufficient to light me for one even- 
ing. So a few weeks ago I laid in a huge 
stock of candles, for to live in the dark in the 
evening would be the worst misery the war 
could bring me. When my friends who are 
working out in the devastated regions, or 
who go " out there " to carry relief, tell me 

[ 77 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

that the most terrible thing they encounter is 
the darkness, In which one crawls round in 
the little ruined villages where there are ab- 
solutely no lights and nothing to make them 
with, and where they stumble over broken 
roads with a pocket lamp — which may give 
out at any time — It represents to me the very 
acme of suffering. I can go hungry, but to 
be cold in the dark is to me the last cry of 
deprivation. 

Even candles are not to be had here, and 
I got my big stock from an English firm at 
the noble price of eight cents apiece. So you 
can calculate what it costs me to write you 
this letter, with my circle of candles at graded 
heights, endeavouring to get enough light and 
avoid cross shadows. I am doing this be- 
cause I have been terribly busy, and the days 
are short, and I could not get time to write 
by daylight. 

As near as I can remember, I wrote you 
late last month — the 25th. The day after 
It turned cold, and I lighted up my salon 
chimney — fully three weeks earlier than 
usual. It hurt me to do it. But the grippe 
is with us, and I could not afford to take any 
risks. 

That was the very day that news came that 
Bulgaria was ready to lay down her arms, 
although the actual armistice was not signed 
until three days later. While we all realized 
that this was the first scene In the last act, 

[ 78 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

there was absolutely no excitement here. The 
only thing that disturbs me is the fear that 
Germany is to be allowed to talk. She has 
been trying to for two years and more. It 
would be a pity if she were allowed the op- 
portunity now. 

A Frenchman said the other day: "Wait 
and see if Germany does not claim that, hav- 
ing offered to stop fighting and make a com- 
promise treaty in December, 191 6, she is 
today an innocent victim of the pride of the 
AlHes." 

On Thursday morning — day before yes- 
terday — we read Wilson's reply to the Ger- 
man demand for the terms of an armistice. 
Although every one here had felt puzzled 
and indignant that Germany should have 
dared to appeal over the head of Foch and 
his fighting armies to the chief executive of 
the last Ally to enter the combat, still Wil- 
son's reply sounds all right. We would have 
liked the short and sharp two words, " Un- 
conditional Surrender," but after all the reply 
they have received is to the point, isn't it? 
No talk, even, with the Germans while their 
armies are on invaded territory. If the letter 
of that is adhered to, and there is no further 
talk of an armistice until the Bodies are in- 
side their own frontiers, and the Allied guns 
are pointed across the Rhine, no one will 
have any complaint to make. But they must 
be thrashed to a finish. 

[ 79 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

You have accused me several times lately 
of seeming to wish to ruin the German nation 
as well as to overthrow Its government. Well, 
we have only one choice — If Germany Is not 
ruined France will be. Which do you really 
prefer? 

Alas! That ruin may do Germany more 
good In the end than escaping may do France. 
It Is often a great deal easier to bear misfor- 
tune — It was for France In 1870 — than to 
keep the muscles from getting soft and the 
soul selfish In the days after a great victory. 
Luckily, In this case everything Is compara- 
tive, and no nation is coming out prosperous. 
Each nation has to suffer, but Germany's suf- 
fering ought to be exactly what she, who 
brought this disaster on the whole world, — 
her allies as well as her enemies, — has 
earned. I can see no place for two opinions 
about that. 

I can hear you asking what it is which has 
kept me so busy that, in order to get time to 
write to you, I have to try my eyes by candle- 
light. First, as I told you, we have had the 
grippe here, and the epidemic Is still spread- 
ing. I really wonder, all things considered, 
that we have not had worse epidemics than 
the grippe, — with so m^iny re fugies, so badly 
housed in empty granges, with only straw for 
bedding, so poorly clad that many of them 
for weeks did not undress because they had 
only what covered them when they got here, 

[ 80 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

and so Inadequately fed because we had little 
to share with them, except potatoes and 
beans. Milk Is almost nonexistent. We have 
half a pound of sugar each month, no butter, 
almost no coffee, no cereals of any sort, no 
fruit, no chocolate, and meat Is so expensive 
that I wonder anyone can afford It. Olive oil 
can only be had In small quantities at an 
exorbitant price, and fuel Is so scarce that 
they are cutting down more of the trees on 
the canals. As for clothing, why, we all gave 
away all we could spare ages ago, during the 
first evacuations, and everything In the way 
of shoes — so necessary — Is so expensive. 
The wooden-soled galoches which the chil- 
dren used to wear to school, and which, be- 
fore the war, used to cost fifty cents a pair, 
now cost one dollar and eighty cents, and a 
pair of ordinary shoes, which used to cost two 
dollars now cost four. As for the shoes I 
used to buy In Paris for five dollars, they now 
cost seventeen and eighteen, and are not 
nearly so good In quality. 

In this situation. In August, I suddenly 
found myself — through no especial effort of 
mine, unless having talked about the Hilltop 
be an effort — more useful than I had ever 
been In my long life. Suddenly the outreach- 
Ing thoughts of the many Americans, who 
have means and cannot be here, and who, 
from the beginning, had now and then 
touched me, stretched generously filled hands 

[ 8i ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

over the Hilltop to drop on these little ham- 
lets the plenty that has turned the course 
of what otherwise would have been dire 
tragedy. 

It is small wonder that the very word 
"American" has a sort of hypnotic effect on 
the French. Unless you have been actually 
inside the relief work on your end of the 
line, I doubt if I can give you any conception 
of what is going on here, for it is not only 
the far-reaching work of the American Red 
Cross, It is also work, quiet and unseen, done 
by private individuals, and you can have no 
idea, unless you have seen it, how quickly and 
generously they respond to any call, and in 
my case, and in many others, how often they 
act without being called. I have written to 
you about my New York friend, Mrs. Griggs. 
Well, at the very beginning of the war, 
through her, Mrs. Elizabeth Millbank An- 
derson came to the aid of our little hospital 
at Quincy, and provided our soldiers here 
with every sort of comfort, from the food 
that helped their convalescence to the air- 
cushions which made them comfortable in 
bed, and the warm flannels and sweaters and 
stockings which sent them back to the front 
with well-filled kits. Right on the heels of 
that gift, while every one in the hospital was 
blessing their unknown friend, Mrs. Ander- 
son, one chilly winter night, just after dark, 
a little camion with " CEuvre pour les Blesses 

[ 82 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

Frangais " painted on it, came up the hill, 
and brought to our sick poiltis candies and 
socks and surprise bags from the young 
people In the States, and oh, so many times 
after that our boys were cheered by gifts 
from the same CEuvre, Including the phono- 
graph, which was their joy and delight as 
long as the hospital was open, and after that 
amused the soldiers who were cantoned here. 
Why, It was even played an entire afternoon 
in September by some of the Marines, 
fresh from Chateau-Thierry and the Belleau 
Wood. 

Since those days there has never been a 
time when some American relief organiza- 
tion has not seemed to have us in mind, and 
it has been cumulative work, growing In gen- 
erosity as the passing years made the necessity 
more pressing. Mrs. Anderson sent up car- 
loads of shoes — beautiful American shoes — 
stockings, clothing, blankets, and all sorts of 
food — the sort of food that even those with 
money cannot buy here today, and I am 
sure that I have made you understand enough 
of the situation to guess what it means to 
have condensed milk and rice and macaroni 
for the children, who are being largely nour- 
ished on potatoes. I wonder if, without ever 
having lived under war conditions, you can 
understand what it means to get such gifts 
in a commune where even those who have 
the means and the will to soften the condition 

[ 83 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

of the poor and the sick cannot do it, and 
where little babies cannot be properly fed 
because what they most need does not exist. 
Can you take that in? Unless you really can, 
you have no realization of the sort of work 
the American women, by the sacrifice of 
themselves, or their generosity with their 
money, did over here, long before our boys 
came across with guns on their shoulders — 
and are still doing. 

The world had been so generous to us long 
before the tragic evacuations of last spring, 
and before the necessities in the absolutely 
devastated regions had become so impera- 
tive, that when, owing to those new evacua- 
tions, our needs became pressing again, and 
babies began to be born amongst our refu- 
giees for whom there were no baby clothes, 
I was rather put to it. However, I went up 
to Paris and smiled out my story, and came 
back laden with layettes. That relieved the 
immediate necessity, but the re-opening of 
school was looming before us, and French 
children cannot go to school without shoes 
and clean black aprons, and then winter was 
coming. The summer had not been so bad. 
It had been warm. The youngsters had not 
needed much clothing. They had run around 
bare-footed, bare-legged, in one garment. 
But before winter something had to be done. 

In that dilemma a miracle happened. 

Unexpectedly — out of a clear sky — there 

[ 84 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

fell on my desk one morning a slip from the 
Red Cross saying that they had received or- 
ders to send me thousands of yards of mate- 
rial — cotton cloth, flannel for underclothing, 
cotton flannel, stuffs for dresses, black satin- 
ette for children's aprons — and that all this 
had already left Paris. 

The announcement shook me right to the 
tips of my toes. I simply can't tell you how 
I felt. I could have taken the "little old 
United States " right up in my two arms and 
hugged it. I made a bee-line for the mayor's 
to tell his wife the good news. It was the 
only time I ever minded Ninette's lack of 
speed. 

Do you know I have never .found out who 
inspired the deed? When I asked to whom 
I was to send my thanks I was told that if 
I wanted to thank anyone I might thank the 
man at the head of the civil work for the Red 
Cross — which I did. But wasn't that a 
wonderful adventure? 

So that is why I am busy. For days neither 
Ninette nor I have had time to do anything 
except go up and down the hill carrying mate- 
rials as they are needed, and this attic where 
I am working looked, and still looks, like a 
warehouse. 

Our mayor's wife is a great organizer. 
The women of the commune who have any 
spare time are always ready to cut and sew. 
The local branch of the French Red Cross has 

[ 8s ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

a little money to pay women who could not 
afford to give their time, and all the young 
girls, under the direction of the Cure's house- 
keeper, who has charge of the patronage con- 
nected with the Catholic Church, did their 
part, and we sent all our children — the war 
orphans, the refugies, the children of the men 
at the front, and all the very poor of both 
communes — to school the first of the month, 
clean, comfortably dressed and shod. 

We are still busy getting ready for winter. 
Ninette and I still go up and down the hill, 
sometimes twice a day, and I think, as I sit 
in my little cart, that I wish I had some way 
of sending telepathic messages which could 
give American women like Mrs. Anderson a 
vision of the good they are doing. 

In the mean time, for a modest person my 
position Is a bit trying. I am the visible dis- 
penser of this generosity — humble, but on 
the spot, and on the job. I explain often. I 
make the names of their American friends 
familiar to them. Every little while I make 
some one write a letter. But It Is I who 
get their pretty smiles and hear their dear 
'' Merci, Mademoiselle^ 

Do you wonder that I feel that the sum of 
it is beauty? 

- Surely, remarkable as may be the results 
of this war on our boys who are unselfishly 
offering their lives for the welfare of the 
future, — In which many of them will per- 
[ 86 1 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

haps have a better part than falls to those 
who are to continue the race, since it is 
they who are holding up the oriflamme 
to point the way to the future, — they will 
be equally so on many of the women over 
here on more or less active service, and 
who have found their work in unexpected 
places. 

I wonder if you remember in those old far- 
off days — everything before the war seems 
ancient history now — going with me to see 
the Stein private gallery, which used to be, In 
those days, the rendezvous for many people 
of all nations who were interested in Matisse 
and Picasso and how many others of the 
revolutionary school of art to which they 
belonged? Those were the days when Ger- 
trude Stein was beginning to be talked about 
as a possible pioneer in a post-impressionistic 
school of literature, and was a red rag to 
many even who did not consider themselves 
de I' Academie. 

I am sure that you must remember her. 
No one who ever met her would be likely to 
forget her. But would you have ever 
dreamed that she would develop into a 
crackerjack camion driver? Of course you 
would not. Well, she did, and for three 
years now has been driving her Ford camion- 
ette, crossing the hills in a snowstorm to 
carry aid to the hospitals in the Pyrenees, or 
driving up and down the hills in the Gard, 

[ 87 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

carrying the sick and wounded, carrying re- 
lief supplies — and driving lilce an expert. 

Does n't it seem a far cry to those old days 
when one used to meet at her studio, on Sat- 
urday nights when it was opened to all 
comers, the leading insurrectionists of all the 
arts, with here and there an American mil- 
lionaire trying to look at ease; and now and 
then a group of American beauties feeling 
that they simply had to be " in it " ; often the 
leaders of the opposition, very much on their 
good behaviour; or the common-or-garden 
variety of traveller feeling that he had to 
take it in (it would make such good dinner 
conversation in New York, and make him 
seem so knowing) ; and always American 
journalists, and journalists from everywhere 
else, looking wise or disconcerted or scornful, 
according to their gifts; and seated round the 
hostess at the long refectory table in the 
middle of the studio — while the casual visi- 
tors roamed round the room — there was 
always her special group of intimates or those 
who had brought letters of introduction. 
Perhaps you met there that evening — I don't 
remember — James Stephens, the Irish poet, 
with his Byronic head, perhaps looking imp- 
ish, but sure to be brilliantly aggressive — 
and oh! so human and Irish; or it may have 
been Myra Edgerly, the altruistic enthusiast 
in search of a great mission, and incidentally, 
en route, painting miniatures of titled people 
[ 88 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

all over the world; or it may have been — 
but where 's the good of naming them to you ? 
But oh! my mind goes back in these days, 
when we wxre feeling so near to the end, to 
all the interests that the war has absolutely 
wiped out, to wonder if they are dead, or 
only sleeping, and in what form the future 
is to see them resurrected, — in fact, what 
sort of a world it is going to be when 

** Johnny comes marching home." 

Johnny and his family tangoed, and fox- 
trotted, and turkey-trotted, and gambled, and 
strutted, each after his own self-centred in- 
terests, or tried, in his undisciplined way, to 
"get on," or was leisurely happy according 
to his class, until the flag was unfurled, and 
all Americans, equal in service under the 
colours, became brothers of one family. I 
am wondering, sitting up in my attic by 
candlelight — and, by the way, the candles 
are burning down — if Johnny, who is the 
son of the nation, in his uniform under the 
flag for which he is ready to die, will be — 
if he lives — still the beloved son of the na- 
tion when he strips that uniform off? He 
has been, and still is, pampered over here, 
where his uniform is his guarantee and no 
one asks his social status. What is he going 
back to? 

Who knows? 

Will he tango and loaf and once more 
think only of himself? I doubt it. Even if, 

[ 89 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

in the first joy of his discharge and of his 
getting that uniform off — it is so unbecom- 
ing — he may for a moment seem unchanged ; 
if for a brief space he longs to roll like a dog 
just unchained, and to rush about madly in 
pure delight of liberty, I have a conviction 
that he will carry home with him something 
beside the kit he brought " over-seas," and 
I believe that these boys who, in the next 
decade, are to rule the country will soon be 
heard from and felt. It will take a bit of 
time for him to shake down, but if, 

'^ When Johnny comes marching home 
again^'^ 
he does not carry with him the soul he has 
found, in so many cases, over here, it will be 
so much the worse for all the world and fatal 
for the States. 

I have a lot of things to say about that — 
they must wait — this is a long letter and the 
candles are burning out. 

In looking this over — must hurry — only 
two lights left — I find that there is some- 
thing I must say for fear that you get a wrong 
impression of the situation. When I tell you 
of all that American generosity has done for 
us here you cannot get an idea of whole ef- 
fort unless I impress on you the fact that we 
have never been invaded, and that we are 
not devastated — we are only the temporary 
asylum of those who have suffered both, and 
are homeless and naked. Here it is only the 

[ 90 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

dark, sad shadow of the real thing. What 
has been so generously done here for us is 
but a drop in the bucket of the great work 
which the Relief Corps are doing for the 
poor creatures still living in the ruins to the 
north and east of us, where, in tiny hamlets, 
the poor tillers of the soil — always poor 
before the war swept over them — are likely 
to freeze and to starve simply because the 
aid which is so ready cannot reach them fast 
enough. In many places there is no aid for 
sickness unless some devoted Sister of Mercy 
travels with it as far as human strength can 
go. " Out there " new-born babies are put in 
boxes and covered with sawdust to try to keep 
them warm. There darkness, cold and hun- 
ger form a perpetual trinity of suffering. It 
is almost impossible to realize the amount of 
aid needed simply to relieve the situation, — 
curing it is impossible. When I look at the 
amount that has been given us, and see, even 
with great system, how rapidly it is distrib- 
uted, and calculate what it must require to 
soften the situation " out there," I am ap- 
palled as much as I am thrilled by the effort. 
It is not merely a question of today or to- 
morrow, for those fed today and tomorrow 
will be hungry the day after, and those who 
are clothed now will be naked in the spring. 

I often think when I see the almost super- 
human efforts being made by men and women 
all over the world, and especially in the 

[ 91 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

States, to relieve the suffering from the war, 
of the difficulty there used to be to get funds 
for all sorts of necessary philanthropic work. 
War has proved that the means exist. Of 
course it is not as picturesque to do that sort 
of thing against a peaceful background. But 
if those who have felt it a privilege to serve 
during the war felt it equally their duty in 
times of peace what a different world it might 
become. 

There is an American Sanitary Corps at 
Couilly — they have brought us some more 
*' flu," as if we did not have enough of our 
own. 

There splutters the last candle — good- 
night. 



[ 92 ] 



VI 

October i8, igi8 
Well, this has been the first day of cheer- 
ing that we have had here. There has been 
no bell-ringing yet, though there may have 
been in Paris. 

Before I was out of bed this morning — 
long before the boy who goes to Esbly for 
the newspapers had got back — women and 
children were running down the road crying 
^^ Lille est prise, le roi Albert est a Ostende,^^ 
and then every one in the place seemed to be 
shouting. I assure you that It was a most 
unusual sound. It made us feel for a few 
minutes as if the first objective was nearly 
won, and that King Albert would soon be 
back in his capital. It is, to be sure, a far 
cry from that to our former dream of seeing 
him ride down Unter den Linden at the head 
of a triumphal procession. But we are more 
modest than we once were, more 's the pity. 

The taking of Lille releases half a million 
French, but oh! the tragedies It will surely 
bring to our already burdened souls. Four 
years and five days of captivity must have 
had a sorry ettect on many of them, and the 

[ 93 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

joy of the liberation is sure to be spoiled by 
the tales of the years of German occupation, 
the revived memories of the deportations, 
and the sadness of those who will soon return. 

My first thought was of all those brave 
men of the 215th Regiment who were with 
us in January, and nearly all of whom were 
from Lille ; and most of whom had been with- 
out news from home since August, 19 14. I 
remembered the charming captain who used 
to drop in for tea, and who had left a deli- 
cate wife and an only son 111 with typhoid 
fever, and wondered what news he would get 
from home, and of the sad rush there would 
be to get back, and of all the delays and 
difficulties. 

We know all about that In a small way 
here. As soon as the Department of the 
Aisne began to be liberated, such refiigies 
from there as were here with us had but one 
idea, — to go home. It was useless to argue 
with them that their houses were probably 
destroyed, that winter was coming, that, 
apart from their not being properly shel- 
tered, it would be, for the present, impossible 
to get food to them, roads being destroyed 
and transportation difficult. None of those 
objections moved them. They preferred to 
live in ruins on the land that was their ov/n, 
no matter what Its condition, to risk starvation 
in their native place rather than be comfort- 
ably cared for here in comparative security. 

[ 94 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

Of course the civil authorities could not at 
once give them passports, and without them 
they could not go Into the liberated districts. 
It was pitiful to hear them plead, in spite of 
the facts and with full knowledge of what 
they had to expect when they got home. At 
least they would find the ground they owned, 
and you know to a peasant the land is much 
more Important than the house. A house is 
only a shelter, and for them a shelter is easily 
arranged. 

During my last visit to Paris I saw some 
very touching scenes at the railway station. 
I still have to get my papers stamped by the 
military authorities in the station before I 
can present myself at the ticket-office, where 
another officer examines my book to be sure 
I have had It properly countersigned. The 
bureau of the officer who examines and 
stamps my papers Is always crowded In these 
days, since the beginning of the liberation, 
with weeping women who pray to be allowed 
to return to their devastated homes. They 
are almost always poor peasants who are 
being cared for In Paris, where all sorts of 
committees help them and provide them with 
work. But " home " is out there, and, de- 
stroyed or not, " out there " is where they 
want to go. 

I wonder if that Is especially a French qual- 
ity? I don't know. It seems to me not to 
be like our country people. Such as I know 

[ 95 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

usually asked nothing better than to move on 
almost anywhere away from the " old place." 
In France it is not only the peasant who has 
that sentiment. Why, I remember when Le- 
gouve — the author of "Adrienne Lecou- 
vreur " and a hundred other plays — died, 
just after I came to Paris to live, being sur- 
prised to learn that he had died in the room 
where he was born, and that in the centre of 
Paris. So it must surely have been a new idea 
to me, accustomed to see my friends move 
about all over the place. I suppose that must 
be a difference between an old country and a 
new. 

I often ask myself what will be done finally 
about some of the re fugles we have here. 
They were just as poor where they came 
from as it is possible to be and 'live. They 
owned nothing. They lived in the tumbling 
down houses you have seen in your travels in 
agricultural France — rent twenty dollars or 
so a year — and worked for other people. 
They could stay on and work here, but I dare 
say that when the time comes they will be as 
anxious to return to the place they were born 
in and work among the people they grew up 
with as if they had left property there as well 
as sentiment. 

Well, Germany declares herself ready to 
accept Wilson's terms for the evacuation of 
occupied territory, and the long-awaited revo- 
lution is coming to her. Let the revolution 

[ 96 ] . 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

go on by all means, but we don't want the 
armistice yet. We want the war over — 
every one on the face of the earth wants that 
— but we want it really ended, and ended 
properly. Ever since, in June, the American 
Army proved itself on the Marne to be a 
fighting army, Germany has known that she 
could not win. Naturally she regrets that, 
but I have seen no sign that she regretted 
anything but that. One does not need to be 
a very keen student of the racial characteris- 
tics of Germany to know that she will some- 
how save her skin — if we let her. It is a 
purely military victory for the Allies, only 
made possible so soon by the loyalty of the 
States in speeding up as they have and the aid 
of the English ships in making that speeding 
up possible. I only pray that nothing will be 
done which will permit the Boche to overlook 
the fact that it is a military victory, or to 
camouflage it in any way. It was as a mili- 
tary power that Germany made this war, and 
to her long-perfected military machine she 
deliberately added every scientific terror, 
every underhand method of attack, that a 
trained, money-supplied, biologically cruel 
race could muster. She has taught the world 
much. It would be a pity if we could not 
better her teaching. Her army is going to 
be beaten to a finish. But her character is 
hardly likely to change, and that is why we 
here are praying with all the strength we have 

[ 97 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

that there will be no armistice while there is 
a chance of the Huns being in condition to 
take advantage of it. 

My entire household is down with the 
grippe — that is, all except Abelard. He 
seems to be immune from everything of that 
sort. 

I ask myself if one reason we have so much 
illness is because it is so difficult for most 
people to keep clean. We lacked soap here 
for a long time. It is almost impossible to 
get any washing done. Luckily I buy soap 
in rather large quantities. In the end it is an 
economy. Then also I had a couple of boxes 
given me among the things to be distributed. 

I have had more occasions to know how 
rare it is than just not being able to get laun- 
dry work done. I have told you that we lack 
kerosene? Well, we lack wood alcohol and 
gasoline also. The other day Amelie was at 
Voisins, and she saw a military chauffeur 
washing both hands and his camion with gaso- 
line. She rushed at him, and asked him if 
he had no shame to be wasting gasoline like 
that when we had none at all? He replied 
that he would like to know how he was to 
clean the grease off his hands since he had no 
soap. So she piloted him up here, and we 
gave him hot water and soap, and he filled 
the little night lamps for us. 

Before we had recovered from that little 
incident one of the American boys who is here 

[ 98 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

with the Corps Sanltaire came to call. I no- 
ticed that he kept his hands in his pockets all 
the time, but as that is an American habit it 
did not impress me particularly. When he 
was leaving he said : " I 'd like to shake hands 
with you, but the truth is, my hands are so 
filthy that I don't dare even to let you see 
them. Cold water and no soap Is not very 
cleansing for us who have to fuss over a 
motor." 

I insisted on seeing the hands, since I could 
remedy that situation for him and the whole 
corps. 

There was a chap who had never before 
been dirty in his life. He was the son of a 
college professor, and a literary man himself. 
But, as Amelie says when she meets cases like 
that, "^ la guerre comme a la guerre,''' and 
when I say anything about the dirt and 
pity the boys, she always replies, '' Dirt is 
healthy," and tries to prove it by a family 
we have here — four children — who have 
never been clean in their lives — nor sick 
either. So I don't know. Do you ? 

As I am doing all my own work — I rather 
like It — this Is only a brief line to tell you 
nothing the papers have not told you except 
that we did shout here for the taking of Lille. 

Of course you know before now that our 
boys are fighting their greatest battle — per- 
haps the greatest ever fought by Americans. 
I had a letter from the front this morning 

[ 99 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

which IS headed simply " In Europe," and 
says : " We have been on the move since the 
last of August. First we were moved up as 
reserves for the St. Mlhlel drive but did not 
see any action there, as the reserves were not 
needed. We camped round in the woods in 
the rain until It was sure we were not wanted, 
and then we hit the road again. We got one 
short truck ride, — eighteen men to a truck 
only meant for twelve, — and then it was 
hike — and hike is no name for it. We 
moved at night and camped by day, as our 
next action was supposed to be a surprise 
attack. 

"After waiting all night in position on the 
25th of September, we went ' over the top ' 
at half-past five In the morning of the 26th 

on the front. [The censor had erased 

the name, but we knew here It was Argonne.] 
Our barrage had literally turned the Boche 
trenches upside down, and we had fairly easy 
going until afternoon, when we met stiff op- 
position from machine guns and snipers, and 
from there on we simply caught It. If the 
divisions on our right and left could have kept 
up, it would have been a heap better for us, 
but unfortunately we went too fast for them. 
We were relieved once on October — [date 
suppressed by censor] but we were no sooner 
out than our brigade was ordered back to 
help another division. After eighteen days 
of It we were finally relieved." 

[ 100 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

That was probably six days ago, and the 
battle Is still going on. Today Is the twenty- 
third day, and so far as we can judge there 
Is no sign of a let-up, though generally speak- 
ing our boys seem to advance. Only think, to 
thousands of them this terrible battle is their 
baptism of fire. 



[ lOI ] 



VII 

October 31, 1Q18 

What can I write to you in a letter during 
these hard days of suspense? We all know 
that Germany is breaking down, but her in- 
ternal troubles don't console us at all, and we 
are indifferent to the royal crowns and ducal 
coronets rolling about like knocked-down men 
in the bowling alley of history. We take 
note that Austria is out, and that it is only 
a matter of a few days before the or- 
der " Cease firing " will be given on the 
Balkan front and Servia will be freed. We 
hardly seem to have a word to say regard- 
ing the fact that where it began it has first 
stopped. 

People have almost ceased to talk here. 
We all have our eyes on the north-east, and 
our hopes fixed on Foch, and we keep our 
minds and hands nervously occupied with 
anything that offers. Naturally I have my 
own particular anxiety, for although Ger- 
many is giving in she is not yet giving in 
easily. The terrible fighting in the Argonne 
Forest, where our boys are at grips with 
them, is still going on, and today is the thirty- 
[ 102 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

seventh day. It Is a. dreadful country to fight 
in, — a Belleau Woods on a big scale. 

Mademoiselle Henriette came back from 
Salonica last week. She got the fever out 
there and has come back for her time of 
convalescence, but returns to her post — or 
another — in December. She has brought 
with her interesting and terrible stories of the 
conditions out there, and a great amount of 
photographic documents. But that is a long 
story, and some time in the future, when you 
are over here, she will show the pictures to 
you, and you will get an Idea of what it is like 
— life out there in war-time. 

I really must tell you one thing. I have 
often wondered what could be done with old 
sardine boxes, old milk tins, old meat tins. 
Here we have the greatest difficulty with 
them. I rarely go to walk or drive that I do 
not find them along the road where the sol- 
diers have thrown them, and outside every 
little hamlet there Is a heap of such things 
salvaged from everywhere. Pere takes ours 
and buries them In a big hole in the ground, 
where stone has been quarried to mend the 
roads. I always contended with Amelie that 
something could be done, as there should be 
no such thing as waste. Anyway, nothing is 
done here with old tin boxes. But out in 
Salonica the refugies build houses with them. 
Henriette has brought photographs of whole 
settlements so constructed. How Is that? 

[ 103 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

Tell me what they do In the States. In my 
time tinned food was less common than now. 

On Sunday I took Mademoiselle Henriette 
to Meaux to lunch with the English friends 
I have there. I wrote to you about them 
after the big German drive of May and 
June. They are still doing hospital service 
until they can reorganize to advance with a 
new cantine wherever they are most needed 
on a new front. I wanted also to see a couple 
of American boys who are in the Hospital 
Jeanne d'Arc — boys who were wounded at 
Soissons. 

At the beginning of the first Foch offensive 
there were a great many Americans at the 
hospitals at Meaux. It was not Intended that 
they should go into the French hospitals, but 
It could not be helped sometimes, and for 
those boys It was very fortunate that this little 
group of English ladies were there. I often 
wished that their mothers In the States could 
have known what affectionate care their boys 
had, so far from home, from them all; and 
how one, a middle-aged woman, wife of an 
English officer, petted them and loved them 
as if they were her own. She has been work- 
ing for a long time at the cantine at the rail- 
way station, and when the hospitals at Meaux 
began to receive the wounded boys from the 
States — boys who could speak no French 
and were cared for by doctors and nurses who 
spoke no English — she gave up every free 

[ 104 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

hour, by night as well as day, to those Amer- 
ican lads, with an enthusiasm so whole- 
hearted and so loving that many an American 
woman who will never know her name is in 
deep debt to her. She watched over our boys. 
She fed as well as loved and petted them. 
Out of her own purse she bought wine and 
fruit and such delicacies as she could find 
which did not enter into the regime of a 
French hospital, where the food is very 
simple. She consoled them, amused them, 
wrote their letters for them. More than one 
American boy died with his hand in hers, and 
many a morning she walked behind the burial 
squad and stood at the grave of a boy from 
the States — the only mourner. All over 
Europe today there are women of all races 
doing just these beautiful acts, but they im- 
press one in a more personal way when one 
knows well the woman who is doing them 
so simply. 

After lunch I went round to the hospital 
to see these two lads, who were the only 
Americans left there. They were lying in 
bed, side by side, among the French — both 
mere youngsters. I doubt if either of them 
had ever been more than twenty miles from 
home before. They had been seriously 
wounded — machine-gun work — but they 
were at last on the road to recovery, and 
oh! they were so bored. Neither of them 
had ever been sick before, so, although the 

[ 105 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

hospital was a good one as military hospi- 
tals go, they were pining for home. One of 
them — a handsome six-footer — had seen 
his younger brother, who was also his chum, 
killed at his side. And wasn't he fussy at 
being in a French hospital? He didn't like 
the food. He could n't speak the language. 
He was just well enough — out of pain — to 
fret, and he wanted an American nurse. He 
craved sweets. He was weary of his bed. 
He was tired of having only one person to 
talk to. He was sure that if he were in an 
American hospital he would be out of bed, 
wheeling around in a rolling chair. It was 
difficult to convince him that he had probably 
not been moved because he was not strong 
enough. 

His beautiful confidence in everything 
American was so touching that it was a great 
relief for me to get word a few days later 
that both boys had been taken to Juilly, where 
they wrote me little notes beginning '' Dear 
Grandmama Miss Aldrich." Wasn't that 
cunning? I loved it. By this time they are 
rolling about in the longed-for chairs, if they 
are not — which is more likely — walking in 
the park, for the head nurse wrote to me that 
they would soon be sent home. 

Just to keep things lively my salon chimney 

fell down the other day. It had to be rebuilt, 

and the house is in a mess. Whatever else 

you do, don't ever let the masons in your 

[ io6 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

house while you are in it yourself. My poor 
little house was arranged with no provisions 
for this sort of work — main staircase right 
in the salon, no doors on the ground floor, 
except into the kitchen. I am living with 
everything draped with big sheets, with heaps 
of plaster and stone in the salon through 
which I have to tramp when I go up and 
down stairs. It is evident that I am to be 
driven out whether I like it or not. I don't 
mind eating my allotted peck of dirt, but I 
draw the line at plaster. 

Anyway, I need some more layettes for the 
last of our refugie babies, and it will save 
time to go after them. It takes a long time to 
get anything down from Paris by express, 
and I don't want the poor little ones to be 
wrapped in rags if I can help it. I shall come 
back the instant Amelie telegraphs that the 
fires can be rebuilt. As things are I might 
as well be living out of doors. I '11 write 
again as soon as I get back. I never can 
write letters in Paris. 



[ 107 ] 



VIII 

November 15, igiS 

Well, dear old girl, the war is over. 

I have tried to write every day since Tues- 
day, but I simply could not. My nerves were 
all frazzled. It is hard to be calm enough 
to talk about it, and it has been impossible 
to write. I suppose I shall make a mess of 
it even now. But I know that, in the midst 
of the first fury of excitement and the enthu- 
siasm which I am-sure has arisen in one great 
shout from the Atlantic to the Pacific, and 
from the Arctic Sea to the Gulf, to the ac- 
companiment of bells and bands and cannon, 
you have often thought of me, and wanted 
to know how we got through the historic 
nth of November. Can it be that it was 
only last Monday? 

I went up to Paris, as I told you I should, 
my house not being habitable. I was ter- 
ribly hurried, and so impatient to get home. 
I went directly to the Bureau of the Fund 
for the French Wounded, and while they 
arranged to make up the bundle for me to 
bring back, we had a gay little talk in the 
same tiny room where in June, when the 

[ 108 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

Germans ^vere pushing toward Paris, we 
had smiled courage at one another and as- 
sured each other that the Huns could not 
get to the capital. We all laughed as we 
recalled that tragic day, and said, " Well, 
they didn't, did they?" 

I came back on the 7th. I found my 
house in order, a huge fire roaring in the 
new brick chimney, and every one — cats, 
dogs, and all — glad to see me. 

The days had been critical ones. The 
Turks had already gone out of the fight on 
the last day that I wrote you, but the news 
had not reached us out here. At three 
o'clock in the afternoon of Monday, No- 
vember 4th, the Austrians had signed their 
armistice and Servia was free. All these 
things had been inevitable for a long time. 
It had been only a question of the date, and 
they left the principal criminal alone against 
the wall, and brought to pass what has fol- 
lowed sooner than we expected — or wished. 

Germany had been defeated a long time, 
and her civil population had been showing 
what we all knew must come — signs that 
we were facing the worst losers history had 
ever seen, the most unsportsmanlike nation 
that, convinced of its superior brute force, 
ever went into war. When historians of the 
future study the German mentality what a 
showing-up the Huns will get! When you 
remember — and who will ever forget? — 

[ 109 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

how France stood up against her mighty and 
tricky foe, how she was beaten back time 
after time, and still staggered up and fought 
on again on her devastated, blood-stained 
soil, what a picture in comparison Germany 
has traced of herself, safe within her own 
frontiers, untouched and unspoiled, and yet 
going to pieces at the approach of the Allied 
Armies — while they were still fifty miles 
from the Rhine ! 

I had an exciting trip home. 

Paris was almost unnaturally calm, in 
spite of the lines of German cannon point- 
ing their impotent camouflaged noses into 
the Champs-Elysees, from the Arc to the 
Place de la Concorde, which kept war before 
the eyes of the city, and looked like a symbol 
of Germany's hopeless position. But quiet 
— almost strangely silent — as the city 
looked, the air was full of whispered stories. 
It was already known that the German Com- 
mission had left Spa — Wilson having at last 
put an end to all futile talk over the heads 
of the armies by saying the words we had 
so long listened for, — ''^ Adressez-vous a 
Foch'' — and of Foch every one felt sure. 
They knew he would give the world a mili- 
tary, not a philosophical, armistice. 

At the station I met a lot of American 
boys just starting for the front — and so dis- 
gusted. A young officer told me that it was 
rumoured that the order to "cease firing'* 

[ no ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

had been given at midnight. I was sure that 
it was not possible, unless such an order 
might have been given on that part of the 
line toward which the German flag of truce 
was approaching, if it had not already 
passed. At that time we did not know where 
the Germans were to meet Foch. 

On the train no one talked. There were 
no outward signs of excitement. Every one 
had his nose buried in a newspaper. The 
only person to whom I spoke was a young 
French officer. We stood in the corridor, 
and under my breath I asked him if he had 
any news. He said he had not, and he added 
that he hoped the armistice would not be 
signed at once, as it was generally known 
that the biggest Allied offensive of all was 
soon to be launched, which would surely re- 
sult In Germany's Sedan — which she had 
well merited and ought not to escape. Then 
he added: " If you saw the map of the battle 
positions in the Excelsior on the 4th and that 
of the American victory on the Argonne 
yesterday, compare them, and you will see 
what will happen in a few days If Foch is 
left a free hand." 

That very afternoon, before I unpacked, 
I laid out the maps in question, and saw the 
Germans being encircled. 

Then I got out my layettes and started for 
the Mairie. There I had a long talk with 
one of the local authorities. I asked him if 

[ m ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

any news had come by telegraph since we got 
the morning papers. He told me " noth- 
ing," except that the German emissaries 
were crossing the frontier that night, prob- 
ably at Haudroy. 

You can imagine me hurrying home, — 
that is, hurrying in Ninette's manner, — and 
before I took off my hat, studying the map 
again. I had the greatest difficulty in find- 
ing out anything about Haudroy, which 
proved to be only a tiny hamlet, hardly 
more important than Huiry. As it is in that 
part of the line where the Army of General 
Debeney has done some hard fighting it was 
easy to guess that the German flag of truce 
would get some bumping. 

It was not until Friday morning — the 
8th — that we knew at what place Foch was 
to receive the German delegates, and dic- 
tate to them the only terms on which an 
armistice for the cessation of hostilities could 
be considered. 

As soon as I knew the place selected was 
Ronthondes, in the forest of Compiegne, I 
went out Into the garden and looked to the 
north, where, only forty miles away, the 
historical meeting was taking place. In my 
mind's eye I Imagined that I could see those 
huge automobiles crossing the shell-ploughed 
country, taking the word "pass" from the 
lips of French officers guarding the route, 
the white flags flapping in the French air by 

[ 112 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

day, and by night the big phares sending 
long rays of Hght into the faces of the 
French poilus crouched along the way, or 
signalling them to stop and give the word. 
I suppose forever in the tradition of some 
French families will be cherished the recol- 
lection of that stirring moment, and the 
memories of those of theirs who watched the 
passing of those cars, — representative of 
France's victory and Germany's defeat, — 
and their children's children will relate It. 
In future days it may be that tourists will 
go over the road and still be touched by the 
glory and pathos of what that passing has 
cost. I only hope that the historical society 
will mark the way with white stones. 

Saturday morning we read here the armis- 
tice, — as you did in the States, — and stiff 
as the terms were, we knew that Germany 
could not hesitate, just as we knew that Foch 
would not discuss. I had only to look at the 
two maps I had studied two days before to 
know that Germany was forced to accept 
even if the terms had been harder. Yet I 
could have cried to think it had come so 
soon. I knew that once Germany had, with 
Wilson's aid, been allowed to talk, the ar- 
mistice was inevitable. Beaten to the point 
where her case was hopeless, and where the 
final surrender of her army was in sight, she 
could only save herself from invasion by 
accepting any terms proposed. She could 

[ 113 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

do It more easily than any other nation, 
being devoid of real pride and not having 
too much respect for her signature. As for 
the Allies, no matter how they felt, they 
could hardly go on with the fighting once 
Germany yielded. Much as one grieved 
that the surrender was made with Germany 
still the invader, the order "Cease firing" 
meant the saving of thousands of lives. I 
simply put up a prayer that with all the les- 
sons the Allied Nations have had from the 
Germans, they will not this time give Ger- 
many any chance to be tricky. 

Convinced that the armistice was as good 
as signed, Sunday was a quiet day — that is, 
it was quiet for every one but me. 

It happened that I was the only American 
In sight, and it being in the minds of the 
simple people among whom I live that the en- 
trance into the war of the boys from the 
States had saved the world from another 
war winter, — as of course it did, — the 
commune seemed to deem it necessary to 
salute the Stars and Stripes in me. So early 
in the afternoon, while I was still out on the 
lawn, wondering at what time the next day 
it would all be over, and still hearing now 
and then the far-oi? sounds of the artillery, 
which reminded us that they would fight 
right up to the last minute, the garde-cham^ 
petre from Couilly came into the garden, put 
his heels together, — he is an old chasseur, 

[ 114 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

— saluted me formally, presented mc the 
hommages of the Civil government, and 
asked if Madame would do them the honour 
to receive them on Monday — probably 
Armistice Day — at two o'clock. 

Madame was a little confused, but she 
said she would. The garde champetre 
backed away, saluted again, and said he 
should do himself the honour of escorting 
them, and marched out of the garden in his 
most soldierly manner. 

I had not really bucked up after that sur- 
prise when I saw a procession coming over 
the brow of the hill, and there were the chil- 
dren of the commune, conducted by the curSj 
and marshalled by his housekeeper, — march- 
ing two and two, — the little tots leading with 
bunches of flowers in their hands, and the 
bigger girls carrying a huge pot of chrys- 
anthemums bringing up the rear. 

I need not tell you that I was a bit con- 
fused, and, Yankee fashion, I carried it off 
by being very active and most informal. I 
am afraid that I was as bad as dear Colonel 
Roosevelt, who smashed the French protocol 
all to pieces when the French Government 
once went in its formal way to meet him at 
the station. He spoiled their formality and 
defied all their ideas of precedence, and scat- 
tered his greetings where his affections were, 
in true American spirit, which knows no law 
but its heart. 

[ IIS ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

I did not, of course, realize what I was 
doing until afterward. I upset the proces- 
sion, spoiled the speech of the " littlest girl," 
hustled them into the house without cere- 
mony, not even giving them a chance to make 
their reverences. Then I bustled round to 
find a little chocolate which I had just re- 
ceived from America, my one Idea being that 
children must be fed at once. However, it 
passed off prettily, and I did not realize until 
afterward that the children's part had all 
been rehearsed. Well, mine hadn't. 

When It was over, and they had formed 
their procession and marched away again, 
I sat down and laughed. I suppose the little 
tots had said: ^^ Elles sont droles, ces Ameri- 
cainesy Really one has to be born French 
and bred French to go through with these 
functions properly, and everything has its 
tradition with the French, even going to 
school. That Is why French children have 
such pretty, half-formal manners. There is 
a correct way for them of doing everything, 
even writing a letter, and they learn It all so 
young that it becomes a second nature to 
them, and enables them to do and say things 
In an absolutely unconscious manner which we 
outsiders In France cannot achieve without 
embarrassment. 

The expected news came early Monday 
morning. As we anticipated, the Germans 
had accepted the hard terms of the " uncon- 

[ ii6 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

ditional surrender," and the order had been 
given to "cease firing" at eleven. We had 
known it would come, but the fact that the 
order had been given rather stunned us. To 
realize that it was over! How could one 
in a minute? 

I was up early to wait for the papers. It 
was a perfectly white day. The whole world 
was covered with the first hoar frost and 
wrapped in an impenetrable white fog, as 
if the huge flag of truce were wound around 
it. I went out on the lawn and turned my 
eyes toward the invisible north. Standing 
beside my little house I was as isolated as if 
I were alone in the world, with all the memo- 
ries of these years since that terrible day in 
August, 1 9 14. I could not see as far as the 
hedge. Yet out there I knew the guns were 
still firing, and between them and me lay 
such devastation as even the imagination 
cannot exaggerate, and such suffering and 
pain as the human understanding can but 
partly conceive. Against the white sheet 
which encircled me I seemed to see the back 
water of the war which touched here, so far 
from where the crests of the big waves had 
broken and engulfed so much and left its 
flotsam and jetsam for the future to salvage. 
Four years and four months — and how much 
is still before us? The future has its job 
laid out for it. Is ordinary man capable of 
putting it over? 

[ 117 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

I had expected that at eleven, when they 
ceased firing at the front, our bells — which 
have only tolled for so long — would ring 
out the victory. We had our flags all ready 
to run up. I was standing on the lawn listen- 
ing, flags ready at the gate, and Amelie stood 
in the window at her house, ready to hang 
out hers. All along the road, though I could 
not see them for the fog, I knew that women 
and children were listening with me. The 
silence was oppressive. Not a sound reached 
me, except now and then the passing of a 
train over the Marne. Then Amelie came 
down to say that lunch was ready, and that 
I might as well eat whether I had any appe- 
tite or not, and that perhaps something had 
happened, and that after lunch she would 
go over to Quincy and find out what it was. 

So, reluctantly, I went into the house. 

It was just quarter past twelve when I 
heard some one running along the terrace, 
and a child's voice called, ^^ Ecoutez, Ma- 
dame, ecoutez! Les carillons de Meaux!^^ 

I went out on to the lawn again and 
listened. 

Far off, faint through the white sheet of 
mist, I could hear the bells of the cathedral, 
like fairy music, but nothing more. I waited, 
expecting every moment to hear the bells 
from Couilly or Quincy or Conde, and the 
guns from the forts. But all was silent. 
There were no longer any groups on the 
[ ii8 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

roads. I knew that every one had gone 
home to eat. Somewhere things were hap- 
pening, I was sure of that. But I might 
have been alone on a desert island. I was 
too nervous to keep still any longer, so I 
walked up to the corner of the Chemin 
Madame, thinking I might hear the bells 
from there. As I stood at the corner I 
heard footsteps running toward me on the 
frozen ground, and out of the fog came 
Marin, the town crier, with his drum on his 
back and a cocarde in his cap. He waved his 
drumsticks at me as he ran, and cried, " I 
am coming as fast as I can, Madame. We 
are ringing up at four — at the same time 
the Tiger reads the terms in the Chamber 
of Deputies and Lloyd George reads them 
in London," and as he reached the corner 
just above my gate he swung his drum round 
and beat it up like mad. 

It did not take two minutes for all our 
little hamlet to gather about him, while in 
a loud, clear voice he read solemnly the ordre 
de jour which officially announced that the 
war had ended at eleven o'clock, and the in- 
habitants of the commune were authorized 
to hang out their flags, light up their win- 
dows, and join in a dignified and seemly 
celebration of the liberation of France from 
the foot of the invader. Then he slowly 
lifted his cap in his hand as he read the con- 
cluding phrase, which begged them not to 

[ 119 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

forget to pray for the brave men who had 
given their Hves that this day might be, nor 
to be unmindful that to many among us this 
day of rejoicing was also a day of mourning. 

There was not a cheer. 

Morin swung the drum over his shoulder, 
saluted his audience, and marched solemnly 
down the hill. He had finished his round. 

In dead silence the little group broke up. 
I came slowly back to my garden, followed 
by my household, including Dick and Khaki, 
for they had gone out with me to listen to 
the armistice proclamation. Amelie told 
the whole story, when she dropped on a 
bench at the kitchen door, and with dry eyes 
and tightened lips exclaimed, ^^ Enfin/ C'est 
fini. On les a!^^ 

After all, that was the Important thing. 
It Is not what we hoped for, or what we 
wanted, but the butchery was over, and I 
don't see how the French, on whose bodies 
and souls the burden had fallen, or how that 
France which has paid a price out of all pro- 
portion to her population can, In her disap- 
pointment even, have any other thought just 
now. 

But, of course, the day was not yet over 
for me. I had still that official visit to face. 

Less than an hour after Marin passed 

over the hill the mayor and his suite arrived 

to present me formally with the thanks of 

the commune for the part I had taken in 

[ I20 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

sharing the hard days with them. I did so 
wish again for some magic means by which 
every one of the American women who had 
stretched out generous helping hands across 
the sea to this little place could have wit- 
nessed the scene, and heard me try to make 
a French speech. It halted a bit, but the 
French are apt at understanding. As far as 
their faces went I might have been rivalling 
the best French orator. I put the honors 
where they were due. But In spite of all I 
said, for the moment I was to them — 
America. Then I had a surprise. 

I am so little French, after all these years, 
that It had not occurred to me that some- 
thing ought to be opened up on such an oc- 
casion. But, thank God, there is always 
Amelle, who adores the Americans, and Is 
terribly proud of us. You see every one who 
comes to call says to her " I guess that you 
are Amelle," and you should see her beam. 
So just at the critical moment she appeared 
in the salon behind me. I heard her pretty, 
gay voice say, " Bonjour, Monsieur le viaire. 
Bonjour, messieurs,''^ and there she stood be- 
side me in her white apron, carrying a tray 
of glasses and a bottle of champagne and a 
jar of biscuit, and everything decked out 
with the best there was in the house in a 
manner that she believed to be tout a fait 
Americain. Now I ask you — would you 
swap her? 

[ 121 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

So she filled the glasses and they all drank 
my health, and then they held their glasses 
high above their heads — the nice old men 
— and cried, " Vivent les dames Ameri- 
caines, et Dieu les benissenty So I pass the 
blessing on to you who have earned it. I 
have represented you the very best I knew 
how. 

You would have loved to hear them talk 
about '''les soldats Americains^^ — our own 
dear boys — "without whom," to quote the 
mayor, "we should have been invaded here 
in June, and without whose aid there would 
have been no victory yet — and perhaps 
never." 

They all went out on the lawn before tak- 
ing their leave to look off toward the battle- 
field. It was still shrouded, although the mist 
had thinned. "There," said the mayor, 
making a sweeping gesture toward the north, 
" there after all it was decided, perhaps, 
right under our eyes. But for that victory 
all the aid the States sent us later would have 
been in vain." Perhaps. At any rate that is 
still the opinion of every one, in spite of the 
fact that we all know that speculation on 
what " might have happened," if what did 
happen had not happened, is vain. 

Then we all shook hands at the gate, and 
they hurried back to Couilly to ring the first 
peal on the church bells to salute the victory. 

I did not go with them, as they suggested. 
[ 122 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

I was content to sit here on the spot where 
I had watched in those hot days of Sep- 
tember, 1 9 14, and listen to the paean of vic- 
tory where I had seen the first military suc- 
cess. I knew that I should hear all about the 
bell-ringing from those who went down. I 
preferred to be alone. 

The mist was lifting slightly. All along 
the valley the bells rang for hours, cut at 
regular intervals by the booming of the guns 
at the forts. 

I sat on the lawn alone, thinking that all 
over France — wherever the bells had not 
been destroyed — this same scene was being 
enacted, and sure that in Paris, where Clem- 
enceau was standing in the tribune before 
the deputies, his reading of the terms of the 
armistice was being punctuated by the guns 
at Mont Valerian saluting the victory, and 
the cheers in the streets. 

Still, to see real France — to see Its very 
soul — one should see it at such a time in the 
small hamlets rather than In Paris, which is 
more cosmopolitan than French, and which 
is, in these days, so crowded with foreigners 
of all sorts as to be almost anything rather 
than really French. 

I sat there a long time, with panoramic 
memories racing before my mind, in the mist. 
Now and then Amelle came out to throw an 
extra cover over my knees — as it grew very 
cold — or to fetch me a hot drink. But she 

[ 123 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

never spoke. We were neither of us in the 
mood to talk. 

I am sure that everywhere outside the big 
cities there were more tears than laughter 
that afternoon. "We have won," as Ame- 
lie said, but oh! it was hard to remember 
that victory had come, just as I told you in 
April it ought not to come — Germany had 
got her armistice for the asking, and the 
order, " Cease firing," had been given while 
"no man's land" lay devastated and dis- 
torted between the Allied armies and the 
frontier. It seemed as if I simply could not 
bear It — with Germany unpunished and ab- 
solutely unrepentant — with her revolution 
looking like a camouflage, her coward of a 
Kaiser, without even the pluck to die at the 
head of his army, in flight, evidently on the 
principle that he " who fights and runs away 
may live to fight another day." 

Of course we have broken the 19 14 
Humpty-Dumpty to bits, and it is true that 
" all the King's horses and all the King's 
men" can't put that Humpty-Dumpty to- 
gether again, but they can easily make 
another. 

I could not help thinking what a pity it 
was that the peace terms were not all ready 
to be imposed at once. It is a great military 
victory, pure and simple. The Allied armies 
have beaten the great German military ma- 
chine. Today Germany would have to ac- 

[ 124 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

cept any terms offered her, but, with such a 
race, In another month it will be another 
matter. 

Did you ever think how menacing this fact 
is — ^the Allies, following on and accepting 
the Wilsonian idea, have declared loudly that 
a people is entitled to choose its own govern- 
ment, and seem to have entirely overlooked 
the fact that Germany was perfectly content 
with hers. Against one of the first prin- 
ciples of the new order it has been smashed 
because we have forced her to smash it or 
be annihilated. You see I do want some real 
peace for my closing years. I can't see any 
chance of it until the attitude toward Ger- 
many is stiffened. 

Still, never mind that. For the present 
at least the wholesale slaughter is over. 
Never again in my time will our part of the 
world lie down to restless sleep, tortured by 
the thought of the young lives the day has 
seen sacrificed even for a noble cause. 
Never again shall we listen in the night for 
the alerte which warns us of the passing of 
death-dealers in the air. 

Still, if I had dreamed that silencing the 
guns was to bring me instant peace, I was 
mistaken. I have rarely been more nervous 
than I was on Armistice Day, or than I have 
been ever since. I can't help remembering 
that this Is only an armistice, and wondering 
if, since Germany got it the first time she 

[ 125 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

asked — saving her army, escaping invasion 
— we can really impose on her a punishing 
peace ? First and last every one of the Allies 
has been a blunderer in diplomacy. Are they 
going to blunder in imposing peace terms? 

Finally, just to occupy myself and shake 
off such black thoughts, I went into the house, 
and while the guns were still thundering and 
the bells pealing, I prepared for the illumina- 
tion. I did not feel much in the humour. 
Still, we call it a victory and I felt that light- 
ing up might cheer other people even if it did 
not me. Anyway, it was something to do. 

I was glad that I had laid in that big stock 
of candles. I made up my mind that even if 
I had to sit in darkness all the rest of the 
winter I would illuminate. I can tell you it 
was a job, but it looked pretty enough to 
repay me for the work. 

We had to take down all the curtains, of 
course, — you know those French windows. 
I had a double row In every window from 
attic to cellar — there are fourteen. Every 
one came up both sides of the hill to see it. 
They said It was visible from Conde, and a 
neighbor who went to Meaux by a late train 
told me that it made a bright spot in the thin 
haze as seen from the train. 

Suzanne and I had worked very hard. 
We had to make the candle supports our- 
selves, and ingeniously swung them with 
wires. 

[ 126 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

I can^t tell you how wonderful it looked 
to us who for over three years have not 
been able to show a light, and for two years 
have not been allowed a lantern on the road. 
Have you ever walked on a moonless night 
on a country road? Many a winter night I 
have gone out to lock the garden gate when 
I could not see it, and have walked off the 
terrace into the flower beds, and had to feel 
along the front wall of the house to find the 
door. Of course I got used to it, but it really 
was a queer sensation to think that it was all 
over — and so suddenly — and that I had 
no longer to be sure that the blinds were 
closed and curtains drawn all over the house 
before I could light a lamp. It was not only 
in the winter that it was hard. In the sum- 
mer, imagine having a sleepless warm night 
and not being able to read unless blinds and 
thick curtains excluded all air. Think of 
all that, and then imagine being able to hear 
a gun without giving it a thought, or watch 
the phare of an aero at night without the 
smallest nervousness. That is what the ar- 
mistice means to us, unsatisfactory as it is. 

While Suzanne and I were arranging the 
candles those who had gone down to Couilly 
or over to Quincy to take an active part in 
the bell-ringing came back to tell us all about 
it — how the civil authorities aided the bell- 
man to ring the first peal, and then how every 
one — women and children — hung on the 

[ 127 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

rope and all pulled together. I rather re- 
gretted that I had not gone down. 

There must have been some pretty scenes 
In that old church. Did I ever tell you that 
every day at five o'clock there is a silent 
prayer there and that all the men of our 
commune at the front knew it and were sup- 
posed, wherever they were, to pause, turn 
their faces toward home, and join in the 
prayer being said for them here? 

I did not go to bed until midnight — not 
until the candles were burned down. Every- 
thing was quiet except now and then a foot- 
step on the road, or the explosion of a can- 
non cracker — as if we had not enough of 
that sort of noise. But I suppose the young- 
sters had not. I was walking at about half- 
past ten In the garden, admiring my illumi- 
nated house — you have no Idea how pretty 
the outline of all the gables looked- — when 
some one threw a petard over the wall and 
it exploded right at my feet. I detest fire- 
crackers. It gave me a start, and I called 
out to the lad who threw it that I did not In 
the least want to Interfere with his amuse- 
ment, but that I begged him not to throw his 
explosives Into my garden while I was walk- 
ing there. He said, " Pardon, Madame," 
and went on down the hill, but I suppose 
that boy-like he resented It, and boy-like he 
took his revenge later. 

Shortly after I went to bed and before I 

[ 128 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

had put out my lights, while I was quietly- 
reading for lack of anything new, " The 
Cloister and the Hearth," and finding a mean 
pleasure in Gerald's description of Northern 
Germany In the fifteenth century, — sud- 
denly there came a sharp shot. It was like a 
pistol right under my window. It gave me a 
start. I sat listening — hesitated about get- 
ting up, but, as I heard nothing more, de- 
cided that it was probably some one return- 
ing from Voisins and emptying his gun en 
route. So I laid down again, and thought 
no more about It until I heard voices In the 
garden. For some reason, I suppose I In- 
stinctively connected them with that shot, and 
thinking some accident might have happened, 
I jumped up, and put on my wrapper and 
slippers. As I started down the stairs I 
heard a frightened voice, and some one 
began to pound and shouted, "Madame — 
oh, Madame ! " While I was unbolting the 
door — two bolts and a key to turn — I rec- 
ognized Amelle's voice and realized that she 
was crying. When the door opened she 
stared at me, and then tumbled into the room 
and sat right down on the floor, and there, 
behind her, was Abelard with a big stick In 
his hand, and two of my neighbours. 

*'0h, Madame," sobbed Amelle, ''what 
has happened? Didn't you hear anything? 
Did n't you hear us calling you ? " 

I said yes, that I had heard a pistol shot, 

[ 129 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

and that I supposed I had heard voices, but 
that I paid no attention. 

*^ There is some one hanging about the 
house," said Amelie. " I thought you had 
been assassinated. I saw some one with a lan- 
tern moving about in front of the house after 
the shot was fired. I woke Pere. Then I 
thought perhaps it was you, so I called two 
or three times. I could still see the light, but 
you did not reply, so I made up my mind 
that some one had shot you." 

"Well, Amelie," I said, "if there is some 
one in the garden we '11 go and find out who 
it is. But you know that if any one were 
here to do harm he would hardly have a 
lighted lantern in a place that can be seen so 
far." 

Unluckily I laughed. I ought to have 
seen how upset she was. But I only realized 
it afterward. I lit my own lantern, and fol- 
lowed by Abelard with his big stick I went 
out in the garden to hunt for the other fellow 
with the lantern. Naturally, as they had 
come through the front garden, I went round 
to the back of the house. I knew that I 
should not find any one. I didn't. But as 
I was returning to the front door I saw, roll- 
ing to and fro on the ground, impelled by the 
wind, a light. I leaned over it, as it moved, 
and saw that it was the burning fuse of a big 
petard — the fuse was as big round as my 
wrist. 

[ 130 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

It was fully fifteen minutes since I had 
heard it explode, and it was still burning 
brightly. How Amelie ever got into the 
garden without seeing it I don't understand. 
I suppose her mind was so fixed on finding 
the mistress shot in the house that she saw 
nothing at all. The explanation was per- 
fectly simple. The naughty boy, naughty-boy 
like, had sent his final shot over the hedge 
on his way home, with the excuse, I suppose, 
that Madame had forbidden him because 
she was in the garden, but that he had not 
been forbidden to make her jump in her bed. 

I am afraid that Amelie felt a bit silly 
when it was all over. I had to be very care- 
ful what I said next day and let her tell her 
story in her own way. I took a neat cold 
going out in the damp air with nothing on 
my head and my bare feet thrust into 
slippers. 

I hope this amuses you. I feel so terribly 
let down. Do you? 

I 'd love to know what the men at the 
front said when the news came that it was 
over — or the fighting was. I have had only 
one letter since the armistice, and that was 
written a few days before. It told me some- 
thing which surprised me — that the division 
to which the writer belonged had been within 
twelve miles of Brussels, but there was no 
word to hint that they had any idea that the 
end was near. 

. [ 131 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

I think of them all today as cleaning them- 
selves up, getting out the colors and moving 
in marching order toward the Rhine. How 
many a homesick lad who Is crossing that 
devastated country to the unspoiled Rhine- 
land, and who. In the terrible days of the 
Argonne Forest — forty-two days of fight- 
ing — must often have thought that he might 
never see the little old United States again, 
will be whistling under his breath: 
" When Johnny comes marching home agaiUy 

hurrah ! Hurrah ! ' ' 
and, although his back Is turned to It, think- 
ing to himself that nothing else counts — 
neither hard marches nor delays — so long 
as In the end he is going back to where the 
home fires burn. And on your side of the 
water how many women's hearts must be 
waiting for the last news from the Argonne 
and the final list of casualties which will tell 
them whether, 

" When Johnny comes marching home,^^ 
their own will be in the ranks, or, through 
proud tears, they must salute the returning 
heroes and rejoice for the more fortunate. 
Of course, to millions of women the armistice 
meant that the boys they had bravely offered 
had never been called Into action. That does 
not alter the spirit of the gift. 

I have been busy clearing up the garden. 
I wish you could see how active the taupes 
are. We destroyed over twenty of their 

[ 132 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

mounds today after filling the holes with 
briar cuttings to wound the snouts of the 
burrowing pest, after which we rolled the 
lawn and hoped for the best. 

It is bitterly cold, — a damp, penetrating 
cold. However, our boys are going to be 
more comfortable, and they have escaped 
all the misery of winter in the trenches. I 
expect those who are to guard the occupied 
country, no matter how long they remain 
under arms, will live in comparative luxury. 
That is a comfort. 



[ 133 ] 



IX 

November 26, igi8 
Thanks for your cable, which came the 
very day after I mailed my long armistice 
letter. I need not have worried, for not yet 
is Othello's occupation gone. I reckon that 
this disaster will not cease being an open 
worry during your life or mine, and that we 
have each got our work cut out. One thing 
Is sure — if I want to keep what little wits 
I have, I must cease trying to solve the ter- 
rible dilemma myself, and extend to the un- 
fortunate ones whose job It Is, all the sym- 
pathy of which I am capable. 

As to what I am going to do, to — as you 
put It — "kill time"? Don't you worry yet. 
First, having a little time on my hands, I 
occupied It with having a kind of suppressed 
grippe — the result of the cold of which I 
had the beginning when I last wrote you. 
I don't Imagine it Is the real Spanish article. 
I am told that it Is not for my age. Besides, 
I am immune from contagions. Anyway, if 
it is, unlike murder, it will not out. I have 
none of the usual symptoms. 

Verv little has happened here since I 

[' 134 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

wrote, except that on the Sunday after the 
Armistice — that was November 17 — 
Coullly had a solemn service in memory of 
les enfants de Couilly, morte pour la Patrie. 
Don't you love the idea of calling all the 
dead soldiers "the children" of the Nation, 
and France their mother? All over the 
battle-fields of France you will find written 
on the crosses that mark their graves, ^^ En- 
fant de France.'''' 

The ceremony of last Sunday was very 
touching. It began with a solemn mass for 
the dead, celebrated by our parish priest, my 
very good friend, Abbe Segret, in the his- 
toric church on the highest point of Couilly, 
turning its graceful apse to Pont-aux-Dames, 
where, from the road, one gets a most pic- 
turesque view of it. 

I must tell you that while this church is 
not as beautiful as the one at La Chapelle, 
a little further up the valley of the Grande 
Morin, It Is a monument historique, and any 
one who loves old-time church architecture 
would find It well worth seeing. Its founda- 
tions date back to the Eleventh Century — 
to that great period of church-building In 
which man, relieved from the fear of the 
" end of the world," which has been prophe- 
sied for the fin de siecle just passed, sprinkled 
churches as thank-offerings all over the 
landscape. Like so many of those built at 
this time between the borders and Paris, this 

[ 13s ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

church was partly destroyed by Norman in- 
vasion, to be rebuilt In the twelfth century, 
and restored at various times during the fif- 
teenth and sixteenth centuries. The nave, 
as it stands today — lofty and well-lighted 
— dates back to the twelfth century, and 
the roomy aisles to the various periods of 
the Renaissance. Unlike so many parish 
churches — and also because it is classed as 
a monument historiqtie and kept In order by 
the Beaux-Arts — there is nothing tawdry 
about it, and lovers of the beautiful can 
find here and there bits of quaint carving 
and touches of antiquity which are rather 
Interesting. 

But if you had been here that Sunday, I 
could not have shown any of those things, 
as the whole church was draped in black as 
for a funeral of the premiere classe, and a 
catafalque stood at the entrance of the choir 
covered with flags and surrounded by tall 
candles. 

The aspect of the litde town — it only 
counts about twelve hundred inhabitants — 
was that of a great funeral. All the people 
climbing the winding street leading to the 
entrance of the church, perched aloft and 
looking as if braced to prevent it from slip- 
ping down into the town, were dressed in 
black, — the French love that, you know, — 
widows and orphans distinguished by their 
crepe, for In France no one can mourn except 

[ 136 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

under crepe, — they even put it on tiny 
children. Some of the most touching calls 
for aid that I have ever heard have been 
from refugiees who had not money enough to 
buy even the bit of crepe needed for the neck 
and wrists of a dress as a badge of mourn- 
ing. It does seem trivial to us, who have 
outgrown the idea, but it is very real to 
them. Of course they don't wear it every 
day, only on ceremonious occasions like going 
to church. Then it seems to them impera- 
tive, for without their bit of crepe how could 
one know they mourned? 

The little church has a very good pipe 
organ. The present Cure is musical, as was 
his predecessor, and a young Conservatory 
pupil who presides at the organ has taste, so 
that part of the service was really fine. 

After the benediction every one filed out 
of the church and the procession formed on 
the little square in front of it. Then, pre- 
ceded by drums and fife, behind which 
marched the firemen of the commune, for 
lack of a real military escort the widows and 
orphans took their places, with the rest of the 
town people following informally. The pro- 
cession wound slowly down the steep hill to 
the little public park on the bank of the 
Morin in which stands the simple monument 
to the honor of the men of Couilly who fell 
in 1870. 

You have seen these funeral processions 

[ 137 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

passing through the streets in France, where 
even the unbelieving and the most radical 
still salute their passing. As the group of 
mourners turned at the entrance of the town 
into the route nationale toward the little 
park, wagons stopped and drivers uncovered, 
and from a military automobile an officer de- 
scended and stood at attention as the flag, 
with its knot of crepe, went by. 

The square had been all cleaned up for the 
occasion. The war had badly damaged it. 
Dozens of war camions have dashed into its 
fence In the last four years and completely 
wrecked that, and made big breaches in the 
hedge behind It, while many military occupa- 
tions of the little garden had quite destroyed 
the ordered neatness of pre-war days. But 
that had all been tidied up as well as a week 
permitted. The simple monument was cov- 
ered with masses of green branches and such 
flowers — mostly dahlias and roses — as the 
season could provide. 

The mayor, with his aids about him, took 
his place before the monument. The fire- 
men, with Sergeant Louis at their head, 
ranged themselves behind him. The widows 
and orphans stood In a semicircle In front of 
him, with the rest of us behind them. 

I 'd like to send you that little discourse — 
I will send you the printed copy, but I Ve not 
time to translate It — It Is too long. You 
know that It has been said that all the French 

[ 138 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

are actors, and that the best of them are not 
on the stage. I often feel that all the French 
are orators and that the best of them never 
mount the rostrum. This white-haired 
mayor — tall, slight, alert — was a simple 
man of the people. He has a strange sort of 
distinction, a beautiful manner, and he speaks 
well and thinks well too, for what he says is 
always worth hearing. His souvenirs of the 
days of the mobilization, his pictures of the 
rising here in the defence of France, and his 
tribute to the people of the little commune 
in the time when France had her back to the 
wall, were simple and touching. But it was 
the end of the discourse — his tribute to the 
men of the commune who would never re- 
turn — that these people had come out to 
hear. At the end, and it was a moving 
tribute, he addressed himself to the group 
of mourners before him, and said: "To you, 
the families who have been so sorely stricken, 
I say, * Weep no more.' Lift up your heads 
in noble pride in remembrance of your dear 
ones, and forget them not. The light of 
their glory shall shine like a halo about your 
heads and those of your children, and your 
children's children, and assure to you forever 
the respect of your neighbours. In the name 
of the community I offer you on this great 
day the homages of a sincere sympathy. 
Vive la France f*^ 

And the entire assembly responded by 

[ 139 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

the cry of " Vive la France! Vive la Re- 
puhlique! " 

The dead silence which followed for a 
moment was only broken by a few sobs, be- 
cause, quite naturally, when the mourners 
were told to " weep no more " they burst into 
tears. 

Then the drums and fife played " Garde 
a vous^''^ and the mayor stepped down, and 
his assistant took his place, while Sergeant 
Louis, with his casque on his head, stepped 
forward, and stood to the front, for the call- 
ing of the roll of the dead. As each name 
was read, the sergeant, standing rigid as a 
statue, brought his hand to salute, and in a 
firm voice replied, ^^ Morte pour la France.'^'* 

It was all simple, but very moving. 

That ceremony finished, the music sounded 
^'' Aux Champs^'^ and all the children, each 
holding a flag, marched around the monu- 
ment singing " La Marseillaise," and then 
the procession re-formed, and, still headed 
by the music, marched to the cemetery to 
decorate the only soldier's grave there is 
here — that of a young cyclist of the 26th 
Battalion who died at Couilly on a hot sum- 
mer day when his division stopped there to 
rest during an advance, from jumping over- 
heated into the Morin. 

Is n't It a singular comment on this war to 
think that here, in a commune which has 
given so many of her children to France, the 
[ 140 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

only soldier's grave should be that of a 
passer-by, dead of an accident? It Is equally 
significant that the commune should have 
given him a burial of great pomp, and that 
his grave should always be most carefully 
tended, and Is a sacred spot to the children, 
who keep fresh flowers upon It. To many 
a pious hand that cares for It, It Is symbolic, 
and the bunches of flowers brought almost 
dally are often In memory of a grave " out 
there " In the north, or of one of those sad 
mounds on the cross at the head of which 
are the words, "Here sleep 170 unknown 
French soldiers." 

Even when the children had redecorated 
the grave and the older people had talked 
about that single military funeral, they 
seemed reluctant to separate. So they all es- 
corted the mayor to his house, and there, be- 
fore his door, the widows and orphans lined 
up, and. In real French funeral fashion, the 
people of the community, headed by the 
mayor, passed along the line and shook each 
mourner by the hand. 

All these ceremonies are dear to the 
French, and I felt sure that this part of the 
affair was a great consolation to them. 

I write you all these little details, which 
are so local, because they are so characteris- 
tically French, and because they will visual- 
ize for you the sort of scene which is taking 
place all over France In these first days after 

[ 141 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

the fighting Is done, and under the influence 
of the thought which grips us all : " There is 
to be no more killing — let us bury our 
dead." 

I am sure that all through the ceremony 
I was not the only one whose mind was ob- 
sessed by another picture — the victorious 
armies advancing, with bands playing and 
colors flying, toward the Rhine. Perhaps 
that idea may not be so compelling to you 
who have never had to see how armies have 
advanced and retreated in this war with all 
the modern improvements, — a picture so 
different from anything that used to be con- 
veyed by the word "martial," and in which 
" Rally round the flag, boys, rally once 
again" has become obsolete — except as a 
symbol, of course. For all I know, the con- 
quering armies may be approaching the 
bridge heads on the Rhine in camions, for 
one of the things which modern soldiers 
most hate is walking. But my imagination 
sees them marching to music and following 
the flag. 

Do you know that in spite of all that has 
been written about this war I met a girl the 
other day who still thought the boys from 
the States went into battle with colors un- 
furled and bugle calls sounding. She had 
never even heard a military whistle. 

Don't you love to think of them advancing 
toward the frontier, with no battles ahead, 

[ 142 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

or being carted all over the place In circular 
trips toward the west with St. Nazaire and 
Bordeaux ahead of them, then the Atlantic, 
— then home? 

I had a letter from New York the other 
day from a woman who said that as her boy 
had never got anywhere near the front she 
expected him home at once. She did not 
seem to realize that It took a year to bring 
them over with England's fleet at our service, 
and that It must, naturally, take much longer 
than that to get them back. 

In the mean time, the boys never needed 
our sympathy more than they do at this 
minute. With all the glamour of war, all 
the tension of battles and danger and glory 
removed, with only the dull routine of mili- 
tary discipline and the monotonous round 
of military duties left, with home waiting for 
them across the ocean and the longing to 
go marching back haunting them, the days 
will be dreary for some of them. There are 
a million of them, perhaps, who have never 
seen any action. They have given up a year 
of their lives to camp training, and have not 
even smelled a battle, never even heard a 
big gun except In artillery exercise, never 
known anything of war except camp life. 
Hundreds of them have worked building 
roads near the coast, the only soldiering they 
have known consisting In wearing a uniform. 
^Naturally, some of them are pretty sore. 

r 14.3 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

You ask me again how I think our boys 
have liked it over here? How can I tell 
you? Up to now they have not had much 
chance to find out for themselves. I doubt 
if they will ever really know before they get 
home, and personally, I believe that it will 
take them some time after they are back in 
the United States to show the moral and 
spiritual marks the trip has put on them. 
They show the physical already — those who 
have stood up under the effort, and the big 
majority have. The trip has been no joy 
ride. The army in the depots has been some 
bored. The fighting army was new to the 
discomforts their allies had borne under 
much more trying conditions for four years, 
and they were not "in it" long enough to 
get used to them. But I assure you that by 
the time the boys get home even the talk of 
the Argonne Forest will seem different from 
what it does today. Time will have softened 
the recollection, and the very fact that they 
were in the great struggle and came out alive 
will influence their memories of it all. Be- 
sides, "distance lends enchantment" as much 
to the past as to the future. 

I am afraid that many will go back with 
Illusions a bit shattered. But that was to be 
foreseen. 

For a great many reasons it was a pity 
that they were not "in it" longer. It was 
no joy ride to the fighting army, but it was 

[ 144 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

and still is, to a great many who are wearing 
the uniform, in civil work. 

I had a boy say to me, just before the 
armistice, when the end was in sight, in his 
opinion : '' Good Lord ! Was this big push 
all the Allies, when they were so near to worn 
down, needed to knock the Boches out? It 
is only taking us six months to finish them. 
What will they think of us by and by?" 

I could only reply that, up to date, I had 
never heard them saying anything but 
" Thank you, Messrs. Americans." 

Here we are sitting up and taking notice 
in a more personal way than we have for 
many a long day. Living is costly. We are 
told it is to be even more so. I suppose that 
is the case everywhere. It is costing me just 
six times as much to live as it did the first 
few months I was here, and I am wondering 
if the cost of mere existence will ever drop 
back to what we used to call '^normal." 

It is cold, but I am very comfortable, as 
I told you I should be. So, even if it is a 
hard winter, as far as I personally am con- 
cerned you need not worry. 

I have learned to love winter here as well 
as summer. The landscape is never bare, 
and the naked trees have even more character 
than the leaf-dressed ones of summer. Be- 
sides, the panorama is even more varied than 
in summer, and, when it is clear, I am always 
discovering a new hamlet which had been 

[ 145 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

hidden in the foliage at other seasons. I am 
getting terribly attached to the soil. Per- 
haps all people of my age feel the same way 

— or would if they had the chance to find it 
out. Charles Dudley Warner once said that 
the fondness for the ground comes back to 
a man after he has run the rounds of busi- 
ness, of pleasure, has eaten dirt and sown 
wild oats, drifted about the world and taken 
the wind in its moods, and that the love of 
the ground is as sure to come back to him as 
he is sure to go under the ground and rest 
there. I am sure that this is not quite right 

— but the idea is there. 

We heard on Monday morning, the i8th, 
that there was not a German left on French 
soil, except, of course, the prisoners. That 
is some comfort. 



[ 146 ] 



December i, igi8 
I HAVE been having a perfect orgy of 
going up to Paris. So many events call out 
to me, and I cannot seem to resist them. 
Normal activity helps me to realize that It 
Is really over, and to feel that the past four 
years have been a nightmare from which the 
world must try to wake to normal life, and 
that I must wake up with it. 

First, I felt It a sort of national duty to eat 
a regular American Thanksgiving dinner on 
Thursday, with an American face sitting 
opposite to me. So, being bidden to Paris 
for just that, I accepted and went. Then 
I felt that I simply had to see the entrance 
Into the city of the first of the victorious 
visiting sovereigns, King George. 

Never again In my time, perhaps never in 
any time, will Paris, or any other city, see 
such scenes of historic interest as are begin- 
ning to take place there now. I felt I had 
to look on at the first of the pictures which 
will be unrolling there for months. Talk 
about the excitement of a great drama on the 
mimic stage, with the curtain rolling up and 

[ 147 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

down between star actors and spectators I It 
is piffle in comparison with the historical 
drama disclosing its living scenes before the 
eyes of the favored ones in Paris today. 
Future generations may re-live these days in 
the novels and dramas of coming ages and 
curse or bless the prominent characters in 
them according to how they play their roles 
in the next few months. But I shall not be 
here to see what the poets and historians, the 
play-makers and novelists do with this epoch 
when time shall have created a perspective 
and permitted a proper selection. So I felt 
that I might as well look at such of the pass- 
ing show as came easily within my narrow 
range of vision. It is not likely to be much. 
King George of Great Britain, Emperor 
of all the Indies, and his sons — the Prince 
of Wales and the Duke of York — chose 
Thanksgiving Day to arrive, so, as soon as 
we had eaten our turkey and plum pudding 
at noon, we went out on the Avenue du Bois, 
only five minutes' walk from the house, to 
see the royal guests pass up the Avenue, 
from the station at the Porte Dauphine on 
their way to the Palace of the Ministry of 
Foreign Affairs, on the other side of the 
Seine (close to the Chamber of Deputies), 
where foreign royalty is always entertained. 
Their route took them up the Avenue to the 
Arc de Triomphe, from the top of which 
only two months ago the guns of the defence 

[ 148 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

against air raids were viciously barking, 
down the Champs-Elysees, across the Place 
de la Concorde and over the river, the hand- 
somest and most popular drive Paris can 
show. 

There were plenty of places where we 
might have gone and sat in a window to 
watch, but I wanted to be in the street, and 
nearer than one could possibly be in a house ; 
the avenues are so very wide. As our end 
of the route was the furthest from the centre 
of the city it was possible to be there and not 
risk being crushed, and being only five min- 
utes' walk from the house, it was easy not 
only to get there but also to get back. 

So we strolled on to the Avenue, paid 
two francs each for a wooden chair, with 
a deposit of another franc to guarantee 
the woman letting them that we would 
not put them in our pockets and carry 
them home. Then we found the best place, 
fixed our chairs, and were free to sit down 
on them until the procession came, and 
then climb on them to look over the heads 
of the guard and the people standing be- 
hind them. As for me, I climbed up at 
once, to look up and down the broad avenue. 
It was a beautiful sight, so quiet, so dignified, 
so exactly, it seemed to me, what the sorely 
tried capital of such a people should be, 
when, although the fighting has stopped, the 
war is not yet ended. 

[ 149 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

It was a grey day. Paris is usually grey 
at this season. A fine drizzle was falling, 
yet few people put up their umbrellas. All 
along the way, from the Porte Dauphine to 
the great arch, on both sides of the road, 
the poilus were standing shoulder to shoul- 
der. As far as my eyes reached the guard 
was made of the famous Chasseurs Alpins, 
known to you as the "Blue Devils" — each 
with a foiirragere on his left shoulder, a posy 
in his rakishly set hereto and a decoration or 
two on the left breast of his faded overcoat. 
They were all standing at ease, joking and 
laughing, looking so fit, and there was not 
a bronzed face among them that was not 
worth studying. I very much doubt if it is 
possible to find anywhere else a crowd of 
common soldiers who look so universally in- 
telligent as these men. One had only to see 
them to believe all the tales of their exploits. 

Every house along the line, on both sides 
of the Avenue, showed English and French 
flags. Here and there along the way were 
stands of the colors of all the Allies. There 
was no bunting, nothing to conceal, disfigure 
or spoil the real beauty of the Avenue, whose 
chief decorations that day were the soldiers 
outlining it with the crowd behind them, 
with the groups massed in the windows fur- 
ther back still. 

It was a mild day. Every window, from 
basement to mansards, stood wide open, and 

[ 150 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

windows and balconies were packed with 
women and children. There were compara- 
tively few men, but I suppose that further 
down the line, nearer the centre of the city, 
the crowd was quite different. I could easily 
imagine, for example, the Champs-Elysees 
below the Ronde Pointe, with its border of 
German guns of every calibre, from 88's to 
huge trench mortars. They must have made 
wonderful vantage-points from which to see 
the passing show, and although the French 
do not want any king in theirs, they love to 
gaze at them as well as any race I know; it 
Is pure curiosity plus a love of free speech. 
The French have a gift for blague and few 
things are sacred to the crowd. If it had 
not been too far for me to walk I should 
have liked to see the Champs-Elysees that 
day, if only to watch the crowd mounted 
upon these cannon. You may have been told 
by American correspondents how they treat 
them, and how they drag them out of place, 
and, on occasion, as far as the boulevard, 
and how Clemenceau practically encouraged 
them with the information that there were 
plenty more in the back shop. ' 

It was a quiet crowd. There was no noise. 
There were few of the bursts of laughter one 
usually hears in a French crowd. People 
did not even seem to talk much. There was 
not a bit of gaiety. So as I stood quietly my 
memory summoned up so many street scenes 

[ 151 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

I had witnessed in Paris from the first great 
one I saw when Felix Faure was buried the 
winter after I came. 

Then I remembered one that we had seen 
together. Do you remember one day, when 
we were sitting near Ledoyen's, after lunch, 
and saw the ex-Queen of Spain, Isabella, the 
grandmother of Alphonso, passing down the 
Avenue for the last time, on her way to the 
royal tomb In the Escurlal ? Do you remem- 
ber that, as the fourgon^ with a cavalry es- 
cort thundering and clanking about It, came 
down the hill au galop (from the famous 
palace on the Avenue Kleber — on the site 
of which the Hotel Majestic Is soon to house 
the British Peace Commission — to the Gare 
d'Orleans) hardly any one walking on the 
Avenue even turned to look at It? I remem- 
ber that you remarked that day that she 
seemed In almost as great a hurry to get out 
of France as she had been, years before, to 
get out of Spain. It was the rapldest thing 
in the way of a funeral that I had ever seen. 

But all this is a far cry from King George's 
arrival. 

What I enjoyed most about the Thanks- 
giving Day function was Its utter lack of fuss. 

The train was due at half-past two. Ten 
minutes before the time, the presidential car- 
riage, a simple victoria, with two horses 
only, just like any private turn-out, passed 
slowly down the Avenue. There was not 

[ 152 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

even a piqueur as in the old days, when the 
President of the Republic could not go to the 
races without outriders and a piqueur, 
Poincare and Clemenceau acknowledged, 
smilingly, the polite cheers that greeted them 
— the heartiest enthusiasm being, of course, 
for the "Tiger," whose time-worn old face, 
though It looked tired, had still that lusty ex- 
pression of vitality which has kept him up 
so well in the gigantic task of holding France 
In leash. His formidable white moustache 
bristled, his eyes shone, he looked alive with 
energy, this man of seventy-eight, who has 
carried a burden which might well have stag- 
gered a younger person. I suppose no finer 
thing can be said of a man than that he has 
" deserved well of his country," and surely 
no one could ask a better fate than, at the 
end of his life, after a varied and stormy 
career, having well outlived his allotted 
" three score and ten," to have met his great- 
est days and successfully steered his country's 
ship through the breakers. 

As I looked after the carriage, making its 
way by the cheers and waving handkerchiefs, 
there came Into my mind a picture of him as 
he stood in the Chamber of Deputies only 
seventeen days before on that historic nth 
of November, closing the war, which had 
been inaugurated there with the memorable 
phrase, " Lift up your hearts, and long live 
France," with the equally unforgettable 

[ 153 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

words, on that day punctuated by the can- 
nons of victory : " Honour to our noble dead. 
Thanks to them, France, — yesterday the sol- 
dier of God, today the soldier of Humanity, 
shall be tomorrow the soldier of the Ideal." 
I wonder, now. Don't you? 

However, it was a nice picture of the great 
old man. I saw a drawing of him in his atti- 
tude at the climax of the phrase, with his 
arms lifted straight in the air above his head, 
one of his most familiar gestures when he is 
in the tribune and excited. 

You see how my mind wanders, writing to 
you. You can guess how it wandered as I 
stood on the chair that day waiting for King 
George to pass. 

It was amusing to see how every one 
jumped at the first boom of the royal salute. 
Then every one laughed heartily. It was 
the first laughter of the afternoon. One 
does not recover at once from the days when 
that sound was a menace. It was exactly 
two months to a day since the last air raid. 
I seem to have forgotten all about them, but 
I know people who still dream of them. 

As soon as the salute began there was a 
movement along the line. From the officers 
in front came a grunt, followed by another 
one, — ^^ Porte — armesf'' I supposed it to 
be, as it was followed by the shuffle of thou- 
sands of feet as the soldiers drew their heels 
together, and then the movement of thou- 

[ 154 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

sands of hands on their rifles as they shifted 
arms, and the officers wheeled, each fist hold- 
ing a sword in front of each chin. 

Then the little cortege slowly trotted up 
the Avenue — only a line of mounted police 
leading the way, followed by King George in 
campaign uniform, sitting on the right of 
Poincare, then a carriage containing the 
Prince of Wales and the Duke of York, with 
Clemenceau facing them — the protocol 
being still place aux princes, even when they 
are kids. A few carriages containing gov- 
ernment people and officers, — French and 
British, — followed by a line of mounted 
police, and it was over. It had not taken 
five minutes for them to pass. Then we 
climbed down from our chairs and went 
home. 

The next day, by accident, I saw the same 
little cortege pass through the Place de 
rOpera on Its way to the Hotel de Ville. 
I happened to be there, and had an oppor- 
tunity to gaze down on the scene from an 
upper balcony overlooking the Place. I got 
there the same impression of great dignity 
which I had received the day before. 

The great square was empty. The en- 
trances to it — six — were closed by cavalry. 
The wide avenues were lined with poilus. 
The sidewalks were packed. The windows 
and balconies were full. The time of wait- 
ing was gayer than it had been the day be- 

[ 155 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

fore — the difference between a residential 
and a business district. Women and chil- 
dren in the balconies rained down chocolate, 
cigarettes, and now and then flowers upon 
the soldiers, and there were constant ripples 
of laughter and the little cries which I had 
missed the day before. Now at one point, 
,now at another, a soldier would rush out 
into the street to catch or rescue or struggle 
for the falling prizes, until a sharp command 
ran along the line and cavalry mounted and 
soldiers came rigidly to " attention.'' Then 
the little cortege — with only a line of 
mounted police as escort — passed. From 
our lofty station the carriages looked like 
toys, as they slowly crossed the wide square, 
— the King and the Prince of Wales in 
khaki, and the Duke of York in a naval 
uniform, and Polncare holding his silk hat 
most of the time in his hand. It was all 
democratic enough, considering that it was 
the king of a great nation in a foreign 
capital. 

I am going to Paris next week to see the 
King and Queen of Belgium. There are no 
figures in this war of whom I more ardently 
desire to get a personal impression than those 
rulers of the brave people who so unhesitat- 
ingly sacrificed themselves to make victory 
finally possible. I hope It will never be for- 
gotten that but for the stand Belgium took 
so quickly, the German hordes would have 

[ 156 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

swept to the Channel in August, 1914? — 
and to Paris. 

The final result might have been the same, 
for there was always the British fleet to be 
considered, but, destroyed as France is now, 
she would, without Belgium's stand, have 
been more so. Speculations are stupid. 
Things are as they are. Still it is certain 
that more fought in this war than men and 
guns and science. Horrible as it has been, 
it might have been worse. That idea comes 
back to me so often in these days, when it 
is presumably over, and yet all so abiding in 
our hearts with its years of uncertainty and 
pain. I suppose that you are convinced, as 
I am, that if war is to be, we must accept 
the theory that those who fight, since fight 
they must, must fight to win, and have (war 
being permissible) the right to use every 
weapon they have or can find or can create. 
Isn't it a sort of sad comfort to feel that 
Germany did all that with devilish ingenuity 
and without a scruple, and was still defeated? 

The world has got to find another way 
out of the dilemma if the majority of the na- 
tions have reached a plane of development 
on which they no longer want to fight. But 
have they? I am sure I don't know. When 
man got above avenging his personal wrongs 
with his own hand he created a police force 
and public courts. Neither has prevented 
murder. But they have decreed its punish- 

[ 157 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

ment — not always justly or In proper pro- 
portions, but, at any rate, personal murder 
went out of fashion. There were times in 
man's history when an heroic murder was 
rather admired. Today no well-regulated 
family really cares to count any kind of mur- 
derer among its members. Perhaps even the 
O'Flaherties no longer pride themselves on 
the days when they used to hear in the litany, 
*' From the ferocious O'Flaherties, Good 
Lord, deliver us." Yet they were Irish. 
Who knows? It may be that Germany has 
put war out of fashion. It has surely put it 
out of fashion to be German — witness the 
great number of people of German origin, 
from King George down, who have sloughed 
off their German names. 

I am going to set it right down quick — 
to save you from the danger of making un- 
pleasant remarks — that I am no believer in 
any League of Nations, except as a cause for 
more wars, any more than I am an advocate 
of the abolition of military service. We 
may have reached a time when we can safely 
shelve the maxim, "We should provide in 
peace what we need in war." I don't know. 
But I do know that fashions are often 
resurrected. 

I came back from Paris yesterday. I left 
in a rain storm, but the sun came out to wel- 
come me. I found my house in " apple-pie 
order" (by the way, what is apple-pie 

[ iS8 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

order?). A big fire was roaring in the new 
brick chimney, and Amelie was full of stories 
about the beasties. We Ve three new kittens 
— Ninette, Rantintin, and Rhadadhu (I 
can't spell that, but it looks picturesque and 
pronounceable that way). They are winter 
kittens, and Amelie says that "winter kittens 
are hard to raise." But they flourish and 
make the nicest topics of conversation. I 
don't know how we should get along if it were 
not for the cats. Khaki does not love them 
as much as we do. He smells them over and 
then retires some distance and spits. He 
knows it is naughty, for the moment he spits, 
he runs away. 

Luckily Amelie and I agree on politics. 
The house would be unlivable if we did not, 
for she is at once violent and picturesque in 
her language. The other day she got fussed 
with Dick, who wanted to play when she was 
not in the humour, and I heard her explode 
with: ^^ Fa-t-on, bolchevikf' When I pro- 
tested, she replied : " Well, I ask you — 
just look at him, with his bushy head of 
hair. He looks just like one of the frowzy 
devils." 

You see, we none of us here are socialists. 
Very few farmers are. Amelie comes near 
expressing the universal feeling when she 
says : " We were happier In the old times. 
We earned less and needed less. All I ask 
is plenty of work and bread. We used to 

[ 159 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

have both, and we had contentment. That 's 
all gone." 

It is a big question, Isn't It — this sowing 
of " noble discontent " and reaping disorder? 
It will never be the proletariats who can clean 
up the business and re-sow the seeds of future 
happiness In the world, which, so far as I can 
see ahead, Is likely to know little happiness 
in what remains of life to me. 

I shall not stay at home long. The Bel- 
gian sovereigns arrive Thursday — that will 
be the 5th. Yes, yes, I know what you are 
thinking. I am going up a week later, to 
look on President Wilson. He Is, after all, 
our chief executive — the head of the gov- 
ernment In the country where I was born and 
of which I am proud. It Is the sporting 
chance with us Americans that we must 
accept the leadership of the man the majority 
elects, so long as he remains In power, as 
gracefully as possible. I shall surely never 
live to see another president of the United 
States pack his grip, order his carriage, and 
without a "by your leave" to the people 
who turned him from an unimportant politi- 
cal schoolmaster to the chief of one of the 
four big powers, cross the ocean to arrogate 
to himself work usually entrusted to men of 
international reputation. Of course he may 
be setting a fashion which will survive, but 
even so, he will still be the first who ever did 
the strange deed for which the constitution 

[ 160 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

has no brake. So, at least, I might as well 
look at him. 

I have seen but one president during 
his term of office — Abraham Lincoln. I 
remember that as if it were yesterday — or 
I think I do. I must have been about eleven. 
I imagine — I can't be sure — that it was 
just before his second inauguration, and so 
not long before he was assassinated. It was 
at the old St. James Hotel, which at the time 
I left Boston, in 1898, was occupied by the 
Conservatory of Music. I can remember 
looking up in his worn face, as he bent his 
tall, loose figure to speak to me. The face, 
the ungraceful figure, the bony hand, are as 
vivid to me today as the day I looked into 
his eyes and told him my name, — or I think 
they are. But it may be because all those 
things have been so familiarized to me in 
books and portraits. My father had told 
me that I must never forget that I had seen a 
very great man. I never did. 

So I am going up to look at Wilson — who 
seems to me to be the very first international 
socialist who has arrived in the chair of a 
ruler of a nation. I have as yet seen no sign 
that in the States he is recognized as an in- 
ternational socialist, but the party in Europe 
seems to have noticed it, and considering the 
fact that the United States of America has, 
as I have told you before, got Europe hypno- 
tized, and that Wilson means to them the 

[ 161 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

people of the nation whose help has been so 
opportune for the Allies, and whose wealth, 
power and comparative immunity from war 
disasters make them so imperatively neces- 
sary to the welfare and reconstruction of the 
war-worn nations, you cannot deny that there 
are grounds for grave anxiety here already. 



[ 162 ] 



XI 

December 8, iQlS 

Well, dear girl — IVe been to Paris 
again. I Ve seen King Albert and his lovely- 
Queen, and I wish I could invent some new 
adjectives. It was one of the most satis- 
factory sensations I ever had. 

Of course the entrance into Paris was only 
a repetition of the arrival of King George 
of which I wrote you last week, except that 
Madame Poincare rode up the avenue to the 
station with the French President, and rode 
back with Queen Elizabeth. It was the same 
kind of crowd, and we saw the cortege come 
slowly up the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne 
from the same point where we had stood to 
see the British King. 

King Albert in his field uniform, sensitive- 
looking and so manly, saluted the cheering 
crowd with visible diffidence — and then 
came Queen Elizabeth! How I did wish 
that you were standing beside me. I have 
seen many a charming woman, but It Is a 
long time since I have seen one so altogether 
adorable as this war queen of the Belgians. 
Her smiling, sympathetic face turned with 

[ 163 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

such frank pleasure to acknowledge the greet- 
ings of the crowd; her expression was so 
noble, so absolutely devoid of anything ap- 
proaching affectation, that I could not help 
feeling that it was a fine thing for a people to 
have such a queen. My heart went right out 
to her, and it seemed to me that every one's 
did, and I felt absolutely satisfied. I could 
only hope that in this work-a-day world the 
Belgians appreciate their luck in having such 
a King and Queen to inspire loyalty, to be led 
by, to look up to, and to adore. 

Of course I realize that the glamour of 
romance hangs round these two. They are 
both young and good-looking. It fell to 
King Albert to make the first great chival- 
rous gesture of the war, and nobly to dare 
extermination for honour's sake, and to his 
Queen, who has taken an ever-active part in 
the actual warfare, to repudiate, in choosing 
the cause of right, her native country and the 
family from which she sprung. 

I suppose you will ask me if she is pretty. 
Really I can't tell you. To me she was beau- 
tiful, and looked as I felt a Queen should, 
but as they too rarely do, except on the stage. 
I could not even have told you whether the 
enthusiasm was great or not. However, the 
very next day one of my friends said to me : 
" If the royalties think they have had a great 
reception in Paris, I can't help wishing they 
had heard New York receiving Jolfre or the 

[ 164 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

Blue Devils. Why, you could hear the 
cheering from the Battery to the Park! " 

That was really none of my affair, except 
that I was glad Papa Joffre got a rousing 
reception at a time when I am sure It cheered 
his fine old heart. There was no need for 
me to take up the cudgels. But I am afraid 
that I did, though I regretted It afterward. 
Of course no one questions that. In the States, 
when they undertake to make a noise, they win 
out over all comers. We are a deep-throated 
people. I am confident, for example, that 
nowhere else In the world do artists get any 
such tumultuous applause as they get In the 
American theatres, and I have seen most of 
the great first performances In Paris from 
the Exposition Year to the War. Besides, 
New York received Joffre before we came 
to be actually engaged In the war, and the 
streets of the city were packed with husky 
men. 

Here In Paris, the capital of a country 
which has been fighting for four years on Its 
own soil, and which has lost in that fight 
one eighteenth of its entire population, and 
one fourth of Its strength in mature men, 
the crowd is largely made up of women and 
children, and I know how ineffective the 
cheers of the groups around me were and 
how ill their voices carried. Besides, these 
royal processions are very modest affairs. 
Paris is not going to do her utmost until the 

[ i6s ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

poilus come marching back, and she will not 
spoil the glamour of that great day by an- 
ticipating it in any way. Also on both the 
days when royalty came a-visiting, all along 
the five miles of road over which they passed, 
there stood, on either side of their route, a 
close rank of deep-throated soldiers, who 
could have made the air ring with shouts, 
each with a gun on his shoulder, his eyes 
fixed front, silent and motionless as a statue, 
or with a sabre, grasped in his fist at his chin, 
held in front of his nose. 

I suppose that I felt needlessly nettled 
that the sincerity of a reception should be 
gauged by Its volume of sound, and yet I 
could not help remembering the significant 
fact that on the Fourth of July, enthusiastic 
as was the reception of the Americans, it was 
their own poilus that got the French crowd. 

One more trip to Paris to see the city re- 
ceive Wilson, and then I am done. I like 
well enough just now to do these little polite 
duties. It is not only that I shall never see 
such things again, but here all my neighbours 
like to hear about it, and many of them have 
never been to Paris. Of course they read 
about it in the papers. But hearing me tell 
about it seems different. 

Still, it Is terribly hard work for me, and 

I get very tired. In the first place, the trains 

are slow and crowded. Then in Paris it Is a 

tedious thing to get any kind of a conveyance 

[ i66 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

for crossing the city. If I have only a small 
dressing-case I cannot carry it far myself, 
and there is rarely a time when I am not 
forced to have something more in the way 
of baggage. Taxi-autos are rare. I simply 
cannot struggle for one myself. You could 
not, energetic as you are. Some one else has 
to do that for me. Luckily in years like 
these one gets to be known by the regular 
porters at the station, and my white hair gets 
me some consideration. Amelie contends 
that it is my eternal smile. I don't think it 
is as fixed as that, but it may be. If I were to 
be absolutely honest I suppose I should own 
that it was all these things — plus something 
I hold in my hand, and which does not go into 
the cab with me, when I get It, — a fact 
perhaps as well known to the station porter 
as my white hair and my smile. 

I often wish you could see me waiting 
patiently on the terrace when the train 
arrives, for I have learned patience In these 
years, good-natured patience. The station 
courtyard is a great sight. The big crowd, — 
soldiers carrying heavy packs, men carrying 
valises, porters with trunks on their 
shoulders, and women with bags, all rush 
out like ants from a hill. There is never a 
waiting cab In the court. The only hope is 
to be able to grab one entering the gate to 
discharge a passenger. So soldiers drop 
their packs, men their valises, porters their 

[ 167 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

trunks, and, with the boys always waiting to 
earn a few sous, they all dash for the street 
in the hope of intercepting a taxi. When 
one comes through the gate it is escorted by 
a running, yelling mob. On either side a 
man has mounted on the running-board, with 
his hand on the door handle, and the crowd 
is bidding as at an auction. The miserable 
passenger inside has simply to fight to get 
out, and while he is settling up, at least two 
people have got into the cab and are fighting 
inside. Then the chauffeur has to decide 
which one he will take, and it becomes a 
question of the shortest and easiest course 
and the biggest tip. The police turn their 
backs, unless called for, — and neither 
chauffeur nor disputing clients care for 
their aid. They can settle better without 
It. They know that he will have no sym- 
pathy with the big tipping — it is his busi- 
ness not to. So they prefer to dispense with 
him. What with tipping the porter who 
fights for you, and the bidding with a tip to 
seduce the chauffeur, one rarely gets off with- 
out paying the value of a dollar and a half 
over and above the fare registered on the 
metre for the trip, which is Itself about 
double what it used to be before the war tariff 
came In. So you see that it is today just 
about as expensive to get about in Paris as 
It used to be In New York. It Is a far cry, 
is n't it, from the old days, when cab-riding 
[ i68 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

In Paris was so cheap? I ask myself some- 
times if Paris will ever again be the Paradise 
of the respectable person of taste and small 
means ? I am afraid not. Today with butter 
at two dollars a pound, coffee at a dollar and 
a half, the outlook is not cheering. One can 
only say, *' Sufficient unto the day is the cost 
thereof" — so long as one can get the 
wherewithal to put something Into one's 
mouth ! 



• [ 169 ] 



XII 

December 15, 191S 

I THINK I told you In my last letter that 
I should go up to Paris to honour the People 
of the great United States by looking at their 
elected chief as he rode through the streets 
to the acclamations of the crowd. I went. 
It was a great day for Wilson, I assure you. 
We had planned to follow our usual pro- 
gramme, — buy our chairs on the Avenue 
du Bois and stand on them. We started out 
calmly, never for a moment supposing that 
what was perfectly easy when kings were 
passing might be less so when the great 
democrat came. You may imagine, if you 
can, our stupefaction on arriving one block 
from the Avenue to find the way barred and 
guarded by the police, and through that bar- 
rier none but soldiers or people who had 
tickets could pass. As such a dilemma had 
not occurred to us, we naturally had no 
tickets. That was a fix. 

Looking over the barriers down the streets 
leading to the Avenue, we could see the 
khaki-clad backs of American soldiers lining 
the edge of the roadway. It looked as if the 
entire American Army had turned out. 

[ 170 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

Groups were still passing, and In front of 
the barriers, women and children were vainly 
trying to get through, while huge camions 
full of lads in khaki were continually going 
along the driveway above the Avenue in the 
direction of the railway station. 

I asked a policeman where on the route the 
way was open, and he said " on the Champs- 
Elysees." But that was too long a walk for 
me, especially as Wilson's route would be 
different from that taken by royal visitors. 
The presidential family is not being put up 
at the Government Palace, which receives 
royal visitors, but Is occupying the Prince de 
Murat's private house, — palatial enough, in 
the smart Monceau quarter of the city, — 
and there was no knowing whether or not we 
could pass the Avenue Malakoff without 
making a wide detour. 

I was rather Inclined to give It up — you 
know how I hate a crowd. Not so my 
companion. 

All the streets near the barriers were 
crowded. Down the middle of the streets 
the uniformed boys from home were walk- 
ing along leisurely, and she accosted a group 
of them to see if they could not get us 
through. They are always delighted to talk 
to anyone who speaks English, especially a 
woman, and white hair helps. I expect it 
makes them think of " mother." The first 
one she addressed, explaining the situation, 

[ 171 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

said cheerily: "Come on, let's try it. I can 
go through, and perhaps I can take you two 
with me." 

So he pushed a way through the crowd 
and cornered the nearest policeman. The 
first time it did not go. But the boy from 
home did not desert us. He simply led us a 
little further up the street to a point where 
the barrier was less crowded, explaining that 
we were his " mother and aunt." The police- 
man looked around, winked an eye, turned 
his back, saying ^^passez vite,'" and we 
slipped through, only to find another barrier 
at the edge of the broad walk which pro- 
hibited us from approaching the roadway. 
But with a little patience we finally passed 
that. Looking back we could see the crowds 
packed about the ends of the streets behind 
the barriers, mostly women and children. 
Looking up and down the Avenue, edged 
with poilus, we saw people massed behind 
them, mostly men In uniform — there were 
few women. 

Along the wide path, behind the crowd, 
everything was animated. Students were 
everywhere, each with some Insignia of class 
or club. They marched and countermarched, 
shouting and singing and joking, blocking 
the way to the few foot passers who were 
hurrying to some special point. They 
massed and unmassed and remassed, and 
every now and then some special class formed 

[ 172 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

in line and lockstepped right through the 
barrier of soldiers, across the street, passed 
through the line on the other side, made a 
turn in the bridle path, and marched back 
again. Now and then a group of St. Cyrians 
met a group from St. Barbe or some other 
lycee, and for a moment it looked like an 
imitation riot, but the police intervened and 
separated them, and then — they began all 
over again. 

In addition, the day was a holiday; every- 
thing was closed — shops, factories and all 
— so it was a very different sort of day and 
a very different sort of crowd, and an utterly 
different spirit from that which marked the 
arrival of the kings. But I have already 
told you that the very name of America has 
the French hypnotized, and there was abso- 
lutely nothing doing in Paris that day except 
receiving the chief executive of the hypno- 
tizing State, the first who ever went a-roam- 
ing during his term of office. 

It was an historical occasion fast enough. 

It is quite needless, of course, to tell you 
that Wilson got a great reception — the 
American boys looked out for that. Besides, 
the cables have told you all about it, and the 
cinema also. I suppose they have told you 
in the papers and shown you in the cinema 
how he held his high hat at arm's length to 
salute the cheering crowd and acknowledge 
the shouts of ^^ Five Wilson!'^ ^^ Fivent les 

[ 173 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

Etats-Unis!^^ and wore his best broad grin. 
He would hardly have been human if he had 
not. We did not see much of Mrs. Wilson. 
By some error, most unusual with the French, 
there were four in her carriage. She sat 
beside Madame Poincare, with Miss Wilson 
and Madame Jusserand opposite to her, and 
the floral offerings were so huge that hardly 
anything was visible but Mrs. Wilson's head. 
Madame Poincare was absolutely eclipsed. 
I imagine that the protocol had not counted 
on any women but the two presidential ladies 
riding in the official cortege, as it is custom- 
ary for all those in the suite to leave the sta- 
tion by another route. 

The breaking up of the crowd, if it could be 
said to break up — in fact it only shifted, — 
was as interesting, once Wilson had passed, 
as the procession. Up the roadway on the 
eastern side of the Avenue rushed camion 
after camion loaded with singing and shout- 
ing American soldiers, while the mass of 
women and children on the sidewalk, in the 
windows or on the balconies, w^aved hand- 
kerchiefs and flags and rained kisses on them. 

It was a Saturday, and later in the day, 
when I had rested, I undertook to go to the 
Soldiers' and Sailors' Club to fetch away my 
hostess, — who puts in parts of her after- 
noons there selling ice-cream tickets to the 
boys, — with whom the club is very popular, 
for there they find a cantine which serves 

[ 174 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

them a lot of things dear to every American, 
and there are books and billiards and some 
of the " comforts of home." Now and then, 
when I am in town, I love to run In there 
just to see the boys. 

I started out shortly after four, taking 
Tototte, the little French bulldog, with me. 
She loves to go and fetch her mother home, 
and sometimes she goes for the afternoon 
to play with the boys, for although she is a 
little French girl and speaks no English, the 
boys manage to understand her. What nice 
American boy does not like a dog? I walked 
a little way with her to give her a run, and 
was rather surprised when I hailed a taxi 
and told the chauffeur to take me to the Rue 
Royale, to be informed that It was Impos- 
sible to get there. When I asked why, he 
mentioned Wilson. 

"But," I said, ''the procession was over 
long ago, at noon." Wilson had arrived in 
the morning, just after nine. 

"Ah!" replied the chauffeur, "but the 
crowd did not go home." 

"Well," I suggested, after a moment's 
reflection, " take me as near as possible and 
I will try to go on on foot." And we started. 

On arriving at the entrance to the Place 
de la Concorde I saw a sight which I have 
not seen for years. As far as my eyes could 
reach was a surging mass of heads. It looked 
as If one could walk on them. All traffic had 

[ I7S ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

been stopped. So I got out and started on 
foot across the Place. It was only a short 
five minutes to the Club, but it took me al- 
most half an hour to make it. I started lead- 
ing Tototte on her leash, but that was im- 
possible. So finally I had to carry her — 
and she is no light weight. Under ordinary 
circumstances I should have abandoned the 
effort, but with some one waiting for me who 
might be worried, I persisted. I went step 
by step through the jam, mostly American 
boys and American and French girls, with 
a smattering of English soldiers, some of 
them with chips on their shoulders — for I 
imagine it will be no news to you to hear that 
when Americans and English meet there is 
apt to be a chip on one or both shoulders, 
and I expected every minute to find myself 
in a row. But I finally got there by going 
slowly, with one hand before me to make 
way and save the dog from being crushed. 
She was so good, and I think did her part in 
inspiring the boys to help me through. So 
as this Paris for Wilson was really a day in 
honor of the States, it belongs to every one 
of you as much as it did to the Wilsons, per- 
haps more. 

We did not attempt to get back until din- 
ner time, when the Place de la Concorde was 
temporarily cleared, though I heard after- 
ward that it was densely packed in the 
evening. 

[ 176 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

The drive home gave me a real sensation. 
Imagine rolling up the Champs-Elysees 
again In a brilliant electric light! I simply 
cannot tell you what it seemed like to be out 
at night In a brightly lighted street. I felt 
as if I were seeing Paris for the first time, 
and for the first time knowing how very 
beautiful It Is. Just think, for over three 
years we have crawled around at night, if 111 
luck took us out, In black darkness, with here 
and there, at a corner, a glimmer through 
blue glass, and here we were, driving in a 
long line of autos up a broad avenue, shining 
with a triple row of arc-lights, with houses 
and shops gaily Illuminated. It looked like 
fairyland. It brought home, as nothing else 
has, the realization that it was over, that 
what we had lived through v/e should never 
have to live through again, and seemed sud- 
denly to bridge with brightness that dark 
gap between August, 19 14, and November, 
191 8, — 1560 days of agony and suspense. 

I came home on Monday to tell them all 
about It. The one thing I could not do was 
to answer the most frequent question : " Now 
that President Wilson has come, will peace 
be made at once?'' 

For three weeks here we have been fol- 
lowing the map just as carefully as we did 
In the fighting days, *'but oh, the difference 
to" — us. We have been watching the vic- 
torious armies pushing the invaders across 

[ 177 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

the Rhine, and marching into Germany. 
But, of course, you are following that in the 
States, and, with the correspondents who are 
in the American contingent, I '11 wager you 
know more about it than we do. It was all 
made very real to me yesterday by an Ameri- 
can officer who came to call, who had been 
with the armies of occupation, and was just 
back from Strasburg. He was full of de- 
lightful and picturesque detail of these days, 
with here and there a note of disquietude. 
It seems so different to chat about it with 
some one who has actually seen it all, than 
to read it in the newspapers. 

He told me that he had never lived 
through any experience so wonderful as the 
entrance of the French into Strasburg, and 
never expected to repeat the sensation, and 
that one of the most remarkable things was 
that in this city, which had been forty-eight 
years under the German heel, where it was 
a crime to own a French flag, by some 
strange magic, when the French troops en- 
tered, every one had a flag. It floated from 
the tops of all the buildings, it hung out of 
all the windows, there was not a child who 
did not have one, the men wore them on 
their coats, the women wore them in their 
head-dresses. It was as if a conjurer had 
done the trick. What was equally note- 
worthy, even the children could sing "La 
Marseillaise." 

[ 178 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

He said the sights in the streets during the 
entrance of the troops were unforgettable, 
and I do hope the cinema will give it all to 
you, and that American women and children 
will watch the moving picture with a full 
understanding of all it means. But no pic- 
ture can give you the soul of it as I had it 
from the American soldier who was there, 
— the poilus marching to music through the 
old streets of the loved and regained city, 
the women and children, of all ages and all 
classes, marching beside them, and at inter- 
vals the divisions of troops separated by a 
line of dancing girls stretching right across 
the street, from curb to curb, — all in their 
national dress, and with the cocarde on the 
big Alsatian bow. " Remember," said the 
narrator, '' these were the women and chil- 
dren of all classes, without distinction of 
rank or possessions, ladies and servants, the 
artisan class and the student, the profes- 
sional class and the commercial, and they 
marched over the whole route." 

Even prettier was the scene he drew of the 
streets after the parade was dismissed when 
the poilus mingled with the people. " It 
was," he said, " as if they were all little 
brothers and sisters together, — one huge 
adoring family. There was nothing rough 
or rowdy about it, only bubbling gaiety and 
simple joy. I had the conviction that if any 
soldier took the smallest liberty with one of 

[ 179 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

those pretty girls, moving so frankly and 
happily among them, his comrades would 
make short shrift of him." No wonder the 
tears streamed down Petaln's cheeks — at 
least "they say" they did, and it does him 
credit. 

This may be ancient history by the time 
you read it, but it is the sort of thing we live 
on here In these anxious days, and I need 
such little tales to cheer up the world about 
me. The tension is terrible. Every one real- 
izes that Germany gave up to save herself, 
and ever one asks: "What now?" What 
now, indeed? 

There is not a boy who comes home on a 
furlough — they get twenty days now — who 
does not bring disquieting tales from the 
Rhine, and the hopes that the most optimis- 
tic had five weeks ago are already fading 
away. In addition, as the Relief societies 
advance with aid Into the evacuated and dev- 
astated regions, which are shell-torn, and 
into the cities, like Lille, which have been 
scientifically ruined, we get back tales which 
even the race that has faced so much can 
hardly bear. I hope before Wilson talks at 
all he will go through that part of France 
which not a century's labor, nor the entire 
war indemnity to be wrung from Germany 
— if It ever Is — can remedy. Until he has 
done that, he cannot judge of the relative 
positions of France and Germany at all. But 
[ i8o ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

I suppose he must be as anxious to do that as 
we are to have him. 

Do you remember Aspirant B , who 

was cantoned In my house two years ago, 
when the 23rd dragoons were holding the 
trenches nearest Paris? He is now Lieuten- 
ant B . I had a letter from him the 

other day, in which he says : '* JVilson aura 
du etre heureux de son acceuil chaleureux, 
mats je troiive qu'il n'est pas assez dur pour 
les Boches. Pensez que chez moi il ne reste 
que les fnurs et les toils — ni meubles, n't 
vaisselle, — et qu'en rentrant ainsi victorieux 
a la maison je suis encore plus malheureux 
que le boche qui rentre defait, et vaincu. 
Avec line race pareille il ne faut aucun me- 
nagement, et la justice a leur egard ne devait 
pouvoir commence que le jour oil ils auront 
repare tous leurs crimes.'''' 

Of course the French must feel like that. 
Every day things are coming to their knowl- 
edge which make the feeling deeper. One 
hears nothing but tales of devastation. I 
know you are getting to hate the word, be- 
cause I am told that already many people in 
the States want to forget there has been a 
war. Here we can't forget it. Even going 
back to those smashed-up districts is danger- 
ous. Here Is a case. 

We have had In our commune, since the 
evacuation of the Alsne last spring, among 
our refugies, a family driven out of Acy, a 

[ 181 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

small town a few miles from Soissons. The 
family consisted of a brave, sturdy grand- 
mother, her son, recently returned as unfit 
for further service in the army, the son's 
wife, and two little girls, very intelligent, all 
of them, — a superior class of farmers. The 
Germans had kept the grandfather. Of 
course he was liberated when the armistice 
was signed and came at once to join his fam- 
ily. In the fall, when Acy was liberated, the 
son and his wife returned, leaving the grand- 
mother here with the children because the 
commune of Acy could not put up shelters 
for more than fifty of the three hundred who 
wanted to return, and so no one was per- 
mitted to go back except those who could 
best work in clearing the fields and getting 
them ready to plant. As soon as the grand- 
father was liberated, after he had seen his 
wife and his grandchildren, he joined his son 
at Acy to work. He was a handsome, sturdy 
old chap of seventy-two, straight and tall, 
and had never had a day's illness in his life 
when he fell into the hands of the Germans, 
and considered that he was good for twenty 
more years of work. He was shockingly 
abused by the Boches, and came here with a 
terrible-looking left hand, — the result of an 
accident while working for the Germans in 
Germany. The hand had not had proper 
care, and one useless finger is to be amputated 
by the French doctor here, as the hand will 
[ 182 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

be better without It. The old man did not 
complain. He was too glad to get back. Be- 
sides, It was a left hand, and the good right 
hand remained. So he cheerfully went off 
to join his son. 

He was not gone long. The fields around 
Acy were full of shell cases and all sorts of 
debris from the battles, and of course there 
were many duds. For a while they got these 
out safely, but one day as they were handling 
one it exploded, just as father and son were 
lifting it, and the old man Is back here with 
his right hand mangled and burned — while 
the son was too badly Injured to be moved. 
I suppose that sort of thing will happen 
again and again for years. 

Near as Acy is to us, only about forty 
m/iles, It Is not yet fed. They Ve no food, no 
clothing, no doctor, and the States are talking 
about feeding Germany. I say, let Germany 
rot. When every one of the poor suffering 
people for whom the Allies have fought and 
bled have been clothed, comforted, and fed, 
and when Russia has been helped. In recog- 
nition of the wonderful fight she put up in 
the first years of the war, and In memory of 
the days when some of them fought on with 
only their naked fists for arms. It will be time 
to even sell food to Germany, but not until 
then. Nothing that has ever happened since 
the war began has created such a dangerous 
excitement here as the proposition made to 

[ 183 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

feed Germany. The very first suggestion is 
a month old now, but it is indignantly re- 
ferred to every day. It was not as if the 
armistice had ended suffering here. It 
brought the very first suspicion that Germany 
might be going to escape her punishment. 
I am afraid that here, remembering how 
German women have behaved, they see little 
difference between German soldiers and Ger- 
man civilians, and while no one wants to 
apply Boche treatment to the German civil- 
ians in the occupied territory, they see no 
reason to aid them at the expense of the 
races that, In addition to the ordinary depri- 
vations of war, have suffered from the Ger- 
man brutal methods of oppression. 

An American officer said to me the other 
day: *' It was not until I got into the part of 
France that had been so long occupied by the 
Huns that my gall really rose. We all hear 
tales of the horrors of war. The air is full 
of the stories of brutal things done. But I 
saw something a few days ago that settled 
anything German for me the rest of my life. 
I was at a little country house which had 
been for four years occupied by a group of a 
dozen German officers. The house was the 
home of an old man nearly eighty and his 
wife, not much younger. The Germans had 
taken possession of everything, leaving the 
old couple to sleep in the corner of a shed, 
without covers, without food, in a heap of 

[ 184 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

straw that became rotten with filth. At the 
end, the old folks lived on herbs and roots, 
and the Germans refused them all aid. 
There they were at the door of their own 
little house, where they once had a cow and 
chickens and rabbits, and a garden. Never 
in all the time the Germans occupied the 
place did they give the old people even a 
crust. That settled the race for me, because 
I argued that there might be certain Ger- 
mans so brutal that the sufferings of the old 
couple they had dislodged and robbed were 
a matter of indifference to them, but, In a 
"group of Germans, that there should not be 
one who, in recollection of his own mother, 
had in years been moved, even on the sly, 
to feed the old people, that was too 
significant." 

The weather has been terribly unhealthful 
so far. One good freeze would kill the 
grippe. But it does not come. 



[ 185 ] 



XIII 

Christmas Day, igi8 

I 'd like to feel like writing "Victory Christ- 
mas," but I don't. However, I feel better 
than I have for the last four Christmas Days, 
if in some ways not so cheery. If anyone 
had told me that six weeks after the armistice 
was signed, with its hard terms, we should 
know nothing of the terms of the peace, I 
should not have believed it. We have known 
the general outline of what was to be dictated 
to Germany, and we are all aware that if it 
had been done when Germany was down 
and out they would have been accepted. I 
can't make you understand how people feel 
about it here, so it is no use to talk about it. 
Let's talk Christmas. 

I did not go to Paris. I have been up so 
often lately that I thought I had better stay 
at home, and celebrate the first peace Christ- 
mas here among my beasties — not that they 
appreciate it, alas ! The truth is that I am 
afraid I have lost the spirit of Christmas, 
and I do hope I can get it back when we 
have a real peace celebration. 
[ i86 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

It snows. The only thing that has 
"gayed" me up at all was the unexpected 
arrival of a huge automobile this morning, 
out of which climbed four nice American men, 
on their way out to the devastated regions. 
They stopped just long enough to wish me 
a *' Happy Christmas " and give me some 
American chocolates, and to let me find out 
that they belonged to my political party, 
which was a blessing, as it let me express an 
opinion or two, which is a joy I have not 
had for many a day. When you have had to 
be careful as long as I have for the honour 
of your country among people who idolize 
it, you will learn the joy of striking out from 
the shoulder. I had it this morning, and it 
did me so much good that I rejoiced that I 
had stayed at home today. 

No, I shall certainly not tell you what I 
said. 

I have been a little saddened and much 
wrought up these last few days. In the first 
place, I have seen some of our prisoners re- 
turning from Germany. Be thankful that 
you don't have to see them. I hope Wilson 
will, but of course he won't. I understand 
that he does not like to see things that stir 
him up, for fear that he cannot be impartial, 
— as if anyone wanted him to be. That I am 
not overwrought to the injustice point by the 
incident is proved by a letter which I have 
just received from a New York man who has 

[ 187 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

been working for a long time with the Red 
Cross. He wrote me the other day: 

" Since seeing the returned French pris- 
oners I have come to the conclusion that the 
terms of the armistice are far too lenient. 
I am afraid we shall never learn to deal with 
the savages. When I think of the fat, well- 
fed, well-clothed, kindly treated German 
prisoners, for whom every one felt too sorry, 
— and how many of us complained because 
we could not do more for them, — and then 
see the men whom Germany has sent back to 
us, I feel that we ought to starve the whole 
nation systematically." 

As for me, I say '' second the motion," and 
with all my heart. 

Here the returning of the prisoners has 
been as tragic as any episode of the war. 

I am sure that I told you long ago that 
here many women whose men were reported 
"missing" in the early months of the war 
had never given up hope, in spite of the fact 
that in every case the Red Cross at Geneva 
and the King of Spain had made every 
possible effort to trace them. Well, among 
the first of the missing men to return here 
was a young man from St. Germain, who was 
reported "missing" in August, 19 14, and 
of whom no trace had ever been found. 
He came back here from the Meuse, a part 
of the country which has been occupied by 
the Huns since August, 1 9 1 4, which they only 
[ 188 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

left after the armistice. It seems that in his 
very first battle he was cut off with several 
comrades and hid when the Germans passed, 
and was found by the French peasants, who 
got him some clothes, burned his uniform, 
and furnished him with false — or stolen — 
civil papers. At any rate, he remained there 
on the farm, and worked until the armistice 
was signed. Of course under these con- 
ditions, with the Germans in occupation, it 
was impossible for him to communicate with 
anyone. 

Naturally his arrival threw the whole 
commune into a terrible state of excitement. 
Women who had not been able to get posi- 
tive proof of the death of their men plucked 
up hope, and lived under a dreadful strain, 
but no more ^' missing " men arrived. There 
Is one dear woman at Couilly who came 
precious near going under at this second 
blow. She had hoped against hope for four 
years that her man would come back, and for 
days after the boy at St. Germain arrived 
she met every train, growing paler and 
thinner every day, and living those first 
weeks of 19 14 all over again. 

Yesterday my good friend the Cure told 
me one of the saddest stories I ever heard. 
Among the first prisoners to arrive at Valres, 
close to the fort of Chelles, and only a few 
miles from us, was an old man of seventy, 
whom no one there remembered. He was a 

[ 189 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

prisoner of war in 1870, being at that time 
only twenty-two years old. He was con- 
demned by the Germans, for some military 
offence — he does not himself seem to re- 
member what — and sentenced to prison for 
life, and for forty-eight years he has been in 
confinement in a German fort. When the 
prisoners of the present war were released 
from that fort they brought him with them, 
and he was sent back to Vaires where he had 
last lived — but no one remembers him. It 
is a little town where the chocolate works 
are, and the population, as in all factory 
towns, comes and goes. 

Just think — to have left France in 1870, 
a lad, and to come back at the age of seventy, 
— forgotten by every one. There 's a better 
subject for a romance-maker than Latude. 
It simply haunts me. 

This is a great letter for Christmas. 
Sorry. But I feel no more Christmassy than 
it sounds. To be sure, outwardly I have 
tried to do the proper things. I have hung 
a huge bunch of mistletoe in the centre of the 
salon, and I had holly on the breakfast table 
and dressed for dinner, and I drank every 
one's health, with only Dick and Khaki to 
witness the ceremony. I tried to think I was 
happier, but I was not. Neither, for that 
matter, is anyone else. 

I once told you that many a woman in 
France would not realize the full measure of 

[ 190 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

her agony until the army returns, and in the 
same way I am beginning to believe that 
France will not know the greatness of her 
disaster until peace is signed and she is free 
to live normally again. During the long 
years of fighting, to save France from death 
was the people's one thought. She is living, 
and the French have time to look at her, to 
realize her condition, and ask themselves if 
she can fully recover. Years and milliards 
may put the North back as it was in 1 9 1 4, and 
it will take generations before the trained 
expert workmen can be replaced. How is 
France to compete with the luckier races — 
like the Germans, for example ? Nothing that 
can be done to Germany can remedy this dis- 
aster; and what can be done to her, even in 
her so-called defeat, to prevent her profiting 
by it, I don't see. Today all the agony of war 
is being replaced by anxiety for the future, and 
the suspense of the Peace Congress, and 
Wilson's attitude regarding the imposition 
of his idealistic League of Nations. What 
no one can understand here is why this war 
should have to be settled by a League of 
Nations which did not exist when it broke 
out, and why so serious a situation should 
be held in abeyance while the League is 
formed? I can't tell them. I don't know, 
myself. Do you? 



[ 191 ] 



XIV 

January go, 1919 

I did mean to write you a nice New Year's 
letter. I simply could not. If this tension 
keeps on until late spring, as they tell us it 
will, my nerves will be so frazzled that I shall 
not be able to write at all. In fact, there is 
nothing much to write except things which 
are disturbing. I have made one brief visit 
to Paris since I went up to see Wilson arrive. 
I did nothing but eat a New Year's dinner, 
and came home sick — and that was no joke 
at this season. 

I have done nothing interesting, and noth- 
ing interesting has happened, unless it in- 
terests you to hear of the New Year's visit 
of the children. It didn't happen on New 
Year's Day. I wasn't here, and I was too 
ill the week I returned to see anyone. 

You know New Year's calls are made over 
here by the people of all classes. Even 
among the peasants, relatives religiously ob- 
serve the custom. There are people who 
make visits and people who receive them. 
I, owing to my age, am not expected to make 
them. 

[ 192 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

It is also the habit of the children of the 
peasant class to make the round of the com- 
mune, wishing each person a " Happy New 
Year," and expecting to be kissed in return 
for the salutation and receive a few sous for 
their savings bank — just as the enfants du 
chceur come to the door on Easter morning 
and kneel on your threshold to sing, with 
the same object. These are customs which 
are as old as France, and which many for- 
eigners dislike. They are classed in the griev- 
ance against the race known as the " French 
love of the 5ow." However, I find it, In the 
end, much less costly than our habit of use- 
less presents to the same class. The French 
peasant children never have toys. They play 
just as well without them. They never miss 
them. Besides, their mothers consider two 
francs spent for a plaything, when the same 
sum would buy two days' bread, wicked, and 
almost every child has her little savings fund 
in the Post-Office Bank. 

It was the first Sunday after I was better 

— last Sunday, in fact — that the children, 
accompanied by the Cure, and the Vice- 
President of the Historical Society of the 
Brie and his wife, came up the hill to present 
me formally with their felicitations and wish 
me, and — to use their words — my "dear 
and noble country, the magnificent and gen- 
erous America " (which I represent to them) 

— a very Happy New Year. 

[ 193 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

You would have loved to see the dear 
children, all In their best clothes, standing 
in a circle in front of me, while one of the 
smallest tots, led forward by the Cure and 
told by him to " speak up, now," made me a 
formal speech, tendering me, so prettily, 
their thanks for all American ladies had 
done for them, and ending with: "Accept, 
then, our good wishes for 19 19, — the year 
of victory and peace, — and let us all cry, 
with one heart and one voice — * Long live 
the United States. Long live France.' " 

It was a pretty, touching little ceremony, 
and I pass it on to all the American friends, 
to whom it belongs more than it does to me. 

I had to smile at your remark in your last 
letter — that I ought now to go away and get 
a nice rest. Do you know, I could not if I 
wanted to. I have no passport, and have 
not had for some months. Now thereby 
hangs what I consider a very interesting tale. 
In the spring of 1 9 1 8 I had a new passport — 
it cost me twelve francs, plus the expense of 
having new photographs taken for It. At 
that time the passport bureau — served by 
youngsters in their teens, or not much past 
them — put me through the third degree. 
There was very little of my private life that 
the young man — who at that time did not 
know me from Adam — did not require of 
me. The fact that my home and all I pos- 
sessed was In France did not move him at all. 

[ 194 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

I had no business to be here. Finally he told 
me that I must go to the Red Cross to look 
up my status. That was easy. One of the 
important people in the Relief Corps, to 
which I belonged, wrote a letter explaining 
that I was the only person doing the relief 
work here and could not be spared. I sent 
it to the passport department, and in due 
time I got my passport — which had been 
paid for when I applied for it. 

A few months later they combed out the 
Americans in France again. There were 
still nothing but young men in the bureau, 
and I was told with great courtesy that there 
was nothing personal in the matter, but that 
the government wanted no Americans in 
France who were not here on war business, 
etc., etc., or who did not have a "worker's 
ticket" — and they held up my passport. 

Paris was simply crowded at that time 
with Americans of all sorts who had political 
pull or knew some one who had. I could 
have asked at the Red Cross for a worker's 
ticket and it would have been given me, but 
as my health and the work I was doing would 
not permit my doing the work which should 
be done by every man or woman carrying 
that ticket I simply declined to take advan- 
tage of the circumstances to do what I abso- 
lutely resent seeing done by so many. So 
my government withdrew its protection from 
me. I wanted to ask them to refund my two 

[ 195 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

dollars, but it was hardly worth while being 
facetious about it. I knew perfectly well 
that the regulations under which passports 
were being withdrawn was never meant to be 
applied to a person In my position. I was 
carrying every French paper which the law 
could devise, and the only need I could have 
here for an American passport would be to 
go to the States, — or, for that matter, out 
of the country, — neither of which I desired 
to do. 

So you behold me — technically — a lady 
'' without a country," although my country 
does not at all, I imagine, object to collecting 
taxes from me. Bear that in mind the next 
time you suggest my going to Spain or some 
other nice place to " rest up," as you call it. 
I assure you that we poor Americans — too 
poor to live comfortably in the land of our 
birth — have had some hard times when we 
were trying to keep up the faith of the French 
In the early days of the war. Don't run 
away with the old Idea that I am resenting 
this, or even feel hurt. I don't. Not a bit. 
Rules are straight lines, like laws. They 
always cut off the heads or feet of some Inno- 
cent people. I am a martyr to a perfectly 
good law, and until some harm comes of It I 
can afford to laugh. I hope I could still 
laugh If some embarrassment had come of It. 
Is there such a thing as Liberty? Where? 

By the way, that reminds me. You accused 

[ 196 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

me In one of your recent letters of having 
after all — to quote your own^ words — 
" got lots of fun out of the war," and that, 
so far as I can see, because I have found it 
" as easy to laugh as to be crying." I Pl^ad 
guilty, in a way. I have laughed, and I do 
laugh still — on the smallest provocation, 
and I thank God I can. Let me tell you some- 
thing—no one has been any good over here 
in th'e last years who could not laugh. On the 
battle-fields, in the hospitals, in the cantonne- 
merits, in the trenches even, it was laughter 
that was needed. It was more healing than 
medicine — it consoled where nothing else 
could. It was the very sunshine. The great- 
est tragic actor in the world, who could play 
to five-dollar stalls on Broadway, was a frost 
in the camps and at the front compared with 
the slangiest razzle-dazzle vaudevillist with 
a broad grin on his phiz and a broad joke 
up his sleeve. 

I learned that lesson from the poilus early 
in the war, in our own little hospital, and in 
seeing the shows the boys got up here when 
they were billeted among us. I never saw 
but one serious effort get across in any of the 
shows here — and that was patriotic and 
personal, and was sandwiched in between two 
of the broadest farces I ever saw. It is the 
old, old story: 

" Laugh, and the world laughs with you, 
Weep, and you weep alone'^ 

[ 197 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

When some sudden thing knocked open the 
tear trap, well, one had simply to laugh 
through the flowing waters, and hope for a 
spiritual rainbow. Anyway — out in the 
open — I have done the best I could. Of 
course, had I happened to have been born an 
Armenian and to have lived at Van, I don't 
know how far my sense of humour would 
have carried, or if I could still have gone on 
making, now and then, a feeble joke. But 
since our visions are limited, and we can only 
see just so far, whether it be over the surface 
of the earth or on the surface of life, perhaps 
even had I been an Armenian and survived 
the evacuation of Van, I might, after a bit, 
have pulled myself together and gone on, as 
the surviving Armenians will, for you know 
they still believe they are going to be a great 
nation, and they have two thousand years of 
Christian endeavor behind them. 

It all seems cruel to our short sight. It 
may be cruel, but it is not unproductive, and 
it cannot be uninspiring, for if it were, the 
bravest and the tenderest, the most intelligent 
and the noblest, would not bear it, but would 
find the '' open door," and slip away to leave 
the world and life and all such things to the 
unintelligent — one remove from the beasts. 

So, you see, nervous, unquiet as I am, I am 
not discouraged. Of course, things are 
gloomy if one looks too closely, and the 
misery is beyond words, and, as if that and 

[ 198 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

the grippe and the difficulty of the food ques- 
tion were not enough, we are flooded, and 
have been for weeks. Looking out of my 
window in the work room where I write, the 
Marne and the canal are merged into one 
wide sea across which the railroad runs. The 
Morin Is over its banks at Couilly and many 
of the houses have their basements under 
water. I am glad that I live on a hilltop, and 
I am also glad that we don't have to think, 
this time, that the poor boys are up to their 
knees or their necks in it. 



[ 199 ] 



XV 

St. Valentine's Day, IQIQ 

It would have been nice if we could have 
had peace for a valentine, but, my word! It 
seems further off than ever, and Wilson just 
leaving to make you a ceremonious call in the 
States. All I can do in honour of the day is 
to wish that the saint who restored sight to 
the Roman noble's daughter could bestow 
clear vision on the Peace Congress, and in 
some way inspire them to remedy the dis- 
aster of the armistice and not to fling to the 
dogs the victory that four years' suffering 
and effort would have won but for that error. 

You ask me in the letter just received how 
it happens that "our Mr. Wilson" is such 
a power, and I judge by your comments that 
you are beginning to understand In the States 
how dangerous the situation has become, 
owing to the perverse determination to force 
the so-called League of Nations to prevent 
future wars before the terms of the peace to 
conclude the present war are Imposed. That 
is an easy question to answer, and I feel as if 
I had answered it already. The truth Is, 
America has had Europe hypnotized, and 
[ 200 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

even now, when the war has passed its 
fighting stage and the invader has gone 
home, that obsession persists. It explains the 
preeminence of Wilson. At least it does 
when added is the determination to be the 
whole show which has marred his whole 
career as schoolmaster and politician. To 
the people here Wilson was, at the time of 
his arrival, the United States of America. 
His ideas were accepted as their ideas. His 
hopes were supposed to be their hopes. His 
opinions and his voice were accepted as 
theirs. You must hold that thought if you 
wish to understand what has thus far hap- 
pened here. 

To understand how this came to pass you 
must bear in mind that long before we came 
into the war the American Red Cross and 
the many private relief organizations (the 
whole of whose great work has so helped 
France to meet her fate) became in Europe 
the symbol of America. Long before Wil- 
son, in answer to the popular demand, finally 
declared war, all over battle-torn Europe 
the Americans have carried hope and care, 
food and aid. Her boys bore arms and died 
in the Foreign Legion. Her brave doctors 
and tireless nurses tended and soothed the 
sick and dying. All along the front her am- 
bulances were behind the firing lines, her 
stretcher-bearers on the battle-fields, and her 
huge hospitals working their operating rooms 

[ 201 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

day and night. Long before, in the eleventh 
hour, the States were allowed to rise up en 
masse against the German kultur, which had 
so nearly blocked the road over which hu- 
manity imagined it was moving to a finer 
interpretation of justice and liberty, Amer- 
ican women had left home and ease to rush 
to the aid of suffering Europe, and had not 
only given their services to the French and 
the Belgians, but had marched among the 
retreating Servians, had sowed hundreds of 
relief works in poor Italy, had mingled with 
the suffering in Russia under dangerous con- 
ditions, and had been seen trying to soothci 
all the disasters in the Far East. 

In those hard days, when France was 
listening, — not for " a new idea out from the 
west," but to hear the great cry which finally 
came, "Hold fast ! We are coming," — there 
was not a secteiir in all the world at war that 
had not become familiarized with the khaki- 
clad American Ambulance Corps and the 
white-coifed American women of the Hos- 
pital Corps or the uniformed girls of the 
Relief Corps. In addition, every American 
hospital had a free clinic for civilians and 
all overEurope there were homes and schools 
for orphan children and refu^ies, where 
little tots were being brought up as French 
as they were born, with just a few seeds of 
cleanliness and order thrown In, for which 
those who fell under such care will be better 
[ 202 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

all their lives. There were countless small 
towns which had seen this work, and the 
humbler the people the more they became ob- 
sessed with the American idea. It repre- 
sented to the people in remote places the 
hope for the future, because they recognized 
that it was absolutely disinterested. That 
was why when Wilson came he represented to 
them the States. I am sure that you know — 
or have known — all this, but it is likely to be 
forgotten, so I impress it on you. 

Outwardly — in official, financial, and po- 
litical sets — the same feeling existed, but for 
other reasons. Official, financial and politi- 
cal cliques are rarely disinterested. In the 
present condition of the world's affairs the 
States seem to stand apart, and the rest of 
the world has need of them. America — 
less tried than her Allies (I suppose I ought 
to say *' associates "), her losses compara- 
tively small, her spirit far less perturbed, 
far richer in resources, in men and in money, 
is actually necessary to the world, and the 
world knows it. Just as the humble people 
living about me are obsessed by the idea 
of wonderful America, and can only be 
awakened from it by a rude shock, in a 
certain sense she has the whole world under 
the same Influence, and Wilson knows It. 

It Is rather an alarming idea, isn't it? 

All sorts of stray thoughts keep starting 
up before me to make me anxious. I remem- 

[ 203 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

ber that In the days before the war the one 
thing we Americans who had lived over 
here a long time, and were out of touch, 
used to want to know was — "What about 
Wilson." 

One day I asked a New York man the 
question, and he replied: "Well, I have yet 
to see the person who really likes him, but 
no one dares question his politics." It was 
terse, but it explained a lot to me. 

The disquieting thought Is that nothing 
stands still, and there Is " no backward step, 
no returning." The Allies did " a long pull, 
a strong pull, a pull all together," until the 
armistice, but — the slaughter being stopped 
— they seem to be pulling in every direction, 
and it looks to me as if the League of Nations 
IS likely to inspire some more of just that 
sort of pulling, — at least, as It Is now. 

No, I am not kicking against the idea of 
a League of Nations. Once the world is at 
peace, in the calm, such a league might be 
formed, but it cannot be done in a hurry. It 
surely cannot be drawn up, well studied and 
approved by all the governments In a rush. 

You write as if I liked war. 

I don't. 

There are a great many things that I don't 
like that I don't see any wav to prevent. I 
don't believe that any one likes war except 
the Huns. Still, I never can forget that 
there are much worse things than death, and 

[ 204 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

much worse ways to die than in a battle, and 
that there are few more inspiring and up- 
lifting things than a heroic death, and — 
League of Nations or no League of Nations 
— we shall still have death with us just the 
same. That is what most people object to 
in war — mind, I say most people. Yet 
the effects of going into war and the results 
of coming out of it are by no means all 
bad. 

If one gets smashed In an automobile 
taking a *'joy ride," one's friends don't 
really enjoy it. If one gets burned up in a 
theatre the whole world is shocked, just as 
it is when one is swallowed up in an earth- 
quake, or sunk at sea by an iceberg, or buried 
by volcanic lava. If one dies of a disease 
sowed in the family by one's ancestors one 
feels a bit cross about it. So what's the 
odds? I don't like any of these things, war 
included, any better than you do. What I 
do like is playing the game as we find it. 

One thirtg is sure. If we want a League of 
Nations, a League of Nations we shall have 
in one form or another. There may be all 
sorts of arguments made against it, — bio- 
logical, traditional, economical, paternal, 
etc., — all unimportant if the world wants 
it, since the very arguments urged against 
It, when judged by past history, may be made 
to plead for it in the future. It will probably 
not prevent war any more surely than war, 

[ 205 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

for a time, prevents itself. Don't forget 
they are keeping up the fighting in the East 
at this minute. 

One of the masons who rebuilt my chimney 
said, one day — you know here the people 
are talking just as much about It as the 
politicians, and this man was just back from 
four years at the front: "As for me, I don't 
know. It is a new Idea, or at least, one that 
has never been tried. The world does not 
seem to have got along any too well on the old 
lines. Why not give the new Ideas a chance ? 
What bothers me Is that they all seem to 
plan as if, suddenly, every one had become 
good and amenable to discipline. It will 
take a great army to keep order. People 
only behave in the face of danger." 

Is that true ? I dunno. 

Nor do I know why I bother to write 
you all these things; but it is In the air — so 
is faultfinding. I suppose it is healthy to 
kick. It proves we Ve got muscles. Even 
when I kick the hardest I am conscious of 
the stupendous task before the Peace Con- 
gress, and such a new one. It seems almost 
beyond human power. Never before has 
mere man had to try to settle up the affairs 
of the entire globe, the whole future of the 
human race, to re-make the European and 
some of the Asiatic and African boundaries, 
to right the wrongs of subject people, and 
put them on their independent feet. I recog- 
[ 206 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

nize, as does every one, the difficulties of the 
task, but what we wish over here is that they 
had set themselves down to judge and convict 
Germany and impose her sentence first. Had 
that been done, the world could have calmly 
and patiently awaited the end of the task, — 
always supposing that Germany's sentence 
had been hard enough to satisfy us. Not 
even the knowledge that we are ever so much 
more just and divinely humane than our an- 
cestors, and that we will bust the whole 
balloon to demonstrate that we are not going 
to fall Into any of the rude injustices of past 
treaties, — no amount of flattery is going 
to make France forget how the brutal treaty 
of Frankfort was Imposed on her in 1871 
without a protest from the nations now ex- 
pecting her to be humane to Germany. She 
is the only one of the Allies who can't afford 
to be, — geographically. 

Besides, Germany's attitude has got on 
the nerves of all of us. Just to know that 
she not only Is not repentant, but that she 
claims not to have suffered a defeat, is irri- 
tating to a world whose nerves are shaken, 
especially as we all know that, having carried 
war Into other people's territory, she can 
recover more quickly than any country ex- 
cept the States, on a future alliance with 
whom she confidently counts. 

With things In this condition unless the 
League is formed on a military basis Ger- 

[ 207 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

many will swallow up all the new eastern 
buffer states in a wink of the eye. 

The League, as it stands, Is too inter- 
national, and internationalism is a danger 
and the death of patriotism. All my sym- 
pathies are against internationalism. I want 
to see nations retain their racial characters 
and habits, strictly confined within their own 
frontiers, with a devotion to their national 
institutions as strong as their love for their 
own flag, first, last and always. Just as 
ardently as I believe in that do I believe in 
a universal military service. It Is a good 
healthy thing that every one born under a 
flag should realize what it represents and 
that to it. In danger, he owes his life even if 
he Is never called on to give It. I believe 
that every man, woman and child should 
grow up in that Idea. How else can one's 
nation become a living thing? From my 
point of view that Is a better protection and 
a surer guarantee against war than all the 
Leagues of Nations ever could be. Military 
service does not militarize a nation. Swit- 
zerland is the best proof of that. If every- 
thing becomes obsolete which means pro- 
tection of one's country, what is to take the 
place of It to sustain national feeling? Mere 
pride In achievement? In riches? In com- 
mercial supremacy? 

The odd thing is, races don't love one 
another. Can you show me two peoples who 
[ 208 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

ever sincerely — as races — loved one an- 
other? They make great protestations at 
times — interest, policy, romance, excitement 
usually accounts for it. When their interests 
collide — puff — it all goes up either in swear 
words or cannon smoke. Read your history, 
even if it is disquieting. It is healthy. 

Hands cold. It begun to snow a week ago 
and kept it up for several days. As the 
ground was frozen and mercury fell after 
it, I am living in a beautiful white world. 
It is pretty to look out over miles of unsullied 
white only marked in the foreground by the 
intricate and elaborate etching of the surface 
where the birds have hopped about on the 
crust. 

Alas! My famous woodpile has faded 
away. It surprises me every day to see so 
much wood make so little ashes. Some of 
the refugies are cutting wood for me in the 
forest, but, owing to the depth of snow on 
the roads, it will be some time before it can 
be hauled. I am beginning to order fuel for 
next winter, as I am afraid that, so far as I 
can see, next winter will be hardly better 
than the last five have been. Thanks to the 
seasons, summer comes between. Summer 
is my time. I never was a winter girl, even 
in my youth. 



[ 209 ] 



XVI 

March I, I gig 

I 'vE just been reading your letter of Feb- 
ruary 6th, which arrived this morning. I 
ignore all your sarcastic remarks to reply at 
once to the most important question, "Who 
isTototte?" 

Do you mean to say that I have never told 
you about Tototte? Let me introduce you 
to the handsomest little French bulldog lady 
you ever saw. She was born at La Villette, 
and her mother died in giving her birth, and 
she had a cat for a wet nurse. I am told 
that cats make wonderful foster-mothers. 
I can't prove this, though I do know there 
is nothing in the world prettier to watch 
than a cat and her kittens, and I do remem- 
ber, in my childhood, to have seen a chicken 
brought up by a cat who licked its feathers 
all in the wrong direction. 

Well, Mademoiselle Tototte has an ador- 
ing lady-mama with whom she lives on 
terms of great intimacy in the house I visit 
when I go up to Paris, and where she does 
the honors with the most exuberant hospi- 
tality, as any of the American soldier boys 
[ 210 ] 



Tototte holding down her *' scrap of paper" and 
looking for another 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

who visit there can bear witness. I am not 
always absolutely sure what Mademoiselle 
Tototte thinks about things, but her 
mother is. 

Having been brought up by a cat, from 
whom she learned many cat tricks, — and I 
am told by the dog-wise that a dog never 
forgets, — Tototte is supposed to have a 
filial love for them. To be sure, she chases 
them just as any small common dog, un-cat 
bred, is apt to do, but it is supposed that she 
does it from pure adoration. Oddly enough, 
it makes the same impression on a cat that 
the common or garden dog's worrying would 
do. But that is the cat's fault. The cat 
refuses to understand. Of course Tototte 
knows that she would not hurt the cat — she 
only wants to love it. Tototte's mother 
knows it. But the cat does not. 

Our cats and dogs, just now a large fam- 
ily, — a "we are seven" family, — lie down 
together in perfect harmony. Neither Dick 
nor Kiki ever heard of such a thing as chas- 
ing a cat. They never saw it done. If 
Khaki is sleeping in an armchair and Dick 
comes along and licks his ears. Khaki turns 
his head sideways for the caress; but if Dick 
persists too long the cat ends by lazily 
stretching out a paw and pushing him away, 
and if Dick does not take the hint, Khaki 
puts out a claw and takes hold of Dick's long 
ear and shakes it until Dick retires, but never 

[ 2" ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

retaliates. In fact, all the cats love Dick and 
crawl over him, and lie down against him to 
sleep, often between his paws. When it 
rains Khaki sometimes takes refuge in the 
kennel with him. The one thing I have never 
been able to make them do is sleep side by- 
side in the same chair, although when they 
come to say "good morning" they jump on 
the bed together. 

As for Marquis Kiki, though he is bigger 
and younger than Dick, and has a naughtier 
disposition, he will attack an intruder and 
bite; he is perfectly tolerant with the cats 
now, though he was not so much in love with 
them when he was a puppy. Today, one of 
my chief amusements is to watch Kiki lying 
in front of my fire slowly waving his tail in 
the air, while all three of the little kittens 
play with it. 

Now the theory is that Tototte " loves 
Khaki," and that Dick is quite "indifferent" 
to him, although he is a most frolicsome 
fool for a grown dog, and as ready to play 
with a ball or chase a stone as if he were six 
months old instead of considerably over six 
years. Indeed, he and Khaki, who follows 
me in the road like a dog, will amicably 
chase the same stone. Khaki does it for the 
sake of the dash. Dick always picks up the 
stone, even when Khaki gets there first. 

With this preamble you can perhaps im- 
agine Tototte visiting Khaki. 
[ 212 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

The visit is engineered by four people — 
the two " mummers " and the dog and the 
cat. The instant Tototte catches sight of 
Khaki she makes a dash of dehght. Of 
course it is Khaki's fault that he does not 
discriminate — never having had any edu- 
cation in being run after — and more than 
that, he seems to have no instinctive idea that 
the little dog would be no match for him if 
he chose to settle matters by single combat. 
So the cat flies, and the dog exhibits, at once, 
his natural instinct for the chase. Khaki 
leaps to the highest point, — a high window 
seat, or the top of the buffet or the stair rail- 
ing if he is in the house, and a tree or the 
top of the arbor if he is in the garden, — 
swells himself up, and growls like a tiger in 
the jungle. Tototte gets as near as possible, 
leaps about, then, finding she cannot reach 
him, sits down and stares at him, " in idola- 
trous rapture," her mama says. To the 
inexperienced outsider it looks exactly like 
any ordinary cat and dog affair. But being 
P^haki and Tototte, of course it isn't — • 
at least I, who love both beasties, hope it 
isn't. 

Now Tototte is a most obedient little 
creature, so the first emotions of her arrival 
being over, we all settle down to enjoy our- 
selves. Khaki is not very obedient. To be 
absolutely truthful, he is not obedient at all. 
What cat ever was? He has the cat's most 

[ 213 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

marked qualities. In fact, he is a real cat, 
and he is a slave to curiosity, while Tototte is 
possessed with an ''idee fixe.^^ She knows 
perfectly well — she is very intelligent — 
that she may not touch that cat. But she 
cannot forget him. She sits all day thinking 
about him, and wondering where he is — 
adoring him, you understand. She, who 
sleeps half the day when she is at home, 
never takes a daytime nap when she is here, 
— any minute that cat may come. She who 
in Paris loves to go to walk, does not care 
when she is here to go far away from the 
house — that cat might come in any time. 
She even neglects her meals, or hurries 
through them — Khaki might get by when 
her nose was in her dish. 

And the cat? 

Well, the cat doesn't suffer. 

After he has been chased up a tree, with 
Tototte sitting beneath staring up at him 
in gasping adoration, he waits patiently for 
me to come and take him down and carry 
him to the house. Then, when the door is 
closed between them, with Khaki spitting on 
one side, and Tototte trembling in adora- 
tion on the other, and we two mamas want 
a little quiet and profound political conversa- 
tion, the little dog is lifted on to her mama's 
knee — her mama can be very severe to 
her — and bidden in a very deep, stern voice, 
supposed to strike terror to her little heart, 

[ 214 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

to *' behave" herself, and, as Tototte dares 
not defy her mama, especially when mama's 
strong hand holds her firmly by the collar, 
for a while calm reigns. 

Then, in the silence, Khaki's curiosity gets 
the best of him. He scratches at the door, 
and when asked what he wants, he miaows 
that he wants to come out. The door being 
opened — he is usually put upstairs, as he 
loves to nap on the bed — he tiptoes out, 
comes down the steps halfway and sits down 
to glare at Tototte held firmly by the collar 
on her mother's knee. Tototte trembles 
with ecstasy. Khaki stares, and then, to 
show his indifference, washes his face, puts 
his whiskers in order, and often goes so far 
as to clean his toes. He seems to under- 
stand perfectly well that the dog can't get 
at him. He finally comes down stairs, and 
stalks the salon like a tiger in miniature, 
taking the width of the room with his slow, 
beautiful feline grace, and pausing at either 
end to sit down a minute and gaze. 

There is always a theory that they will 
learn, but they don't — at least they have 
not yet, and they have had lots of oppor- 
tunity. 

The funny thing is that the cat seems to 
know that the dog sleeps very soundly at 
night; she would, of course, after the exciting 
days she has. When Khaki goes down in 
the morning he invariably stops at the open 

[ 215 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

door where he knows the dog sleeps and 
looks in. 

I have been telling Khaki this morning, 
as he sat on my knee making his toilet, that 
he Is to have a visit soon from Tototte. If 
he understood, he only winked at me and 
made no other sign. Probably he thinks that 
it Is all In the day's work. 

I must tell you. It Is only fair, that Tototte 
adores cats In exactly the same way when she 
is at home. She knows every house where 
a cat ever sits on the window sill. She knows 
every shop where a cat lives. When she is 
taken out to walk on the today Inevitable 
leash, she drags her conductor, whether it 
be mistress or maid, to all such places that 
she may celebrate her rite of " adoring a 
cat." She has In her time had her face 
slapped more than once, but she does not 
seem to mind, evidently likes it, and only 
retires a few steps, returning at once to her 
act of — adoration, quite ready to turn the 
other cheek. I suppose she will continue her 
rites until some day she gets really punished. 

I suppose reasonable women would have 
let them have It out and be done with it in 
the first place. But I had fears for the beau- 
tiful dog's lovely brown eyes, and so litde 
deep knowledge of cats as not to be sure 
whether, once driven out of the garden, 
Khaki would ever come back. 

Amelie says that is absurd, as he would 

[ 216 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

only go to her house, which he does of his 
own volition when I am in Paris. So I im- 
agine the dog would run the greatest risk in 
a free fight if the cat were cornered, which 
I doubt if he would be. 

I remember seeing a dog punished by a 
cat when I was visiting my grandfather as a 
little girl, and I never forgot it. The dog 
was a big mastiff, and had worried a kitten. 
The dog was given a dose of the whip, but 
evidently the mother cat was not satisfied, 
for she laid in wait for him the next day as 
he trotted near the eaves of a lean-to, and 
leaped on his back and cuffed him well. 
Tige, the dog, made a circuit of the garden 
in his fright, with the claws of the cat dug 
into his shoulders, before it occurred to him to 
roll her off, and he never chased a cat again. 

Anyway, Tototte is consistent. She just 
loves anything that moves. Cats move — 
ergOf she adores cats. When she walks in 
the garden a flying leaf, the smaller the bet- 
ter, a bit of blowing paper, and she is radi- 
antly happy, and so busy. I send you a pic- 
ture of her standing on a bit of paper she 
has just caught, and looking for another. 
Her antics make walking with her a constant 
joy. She has one other passion — motor- 
cars. She simply hates to ride behind a 
horse, and barks every minute. But in a 
motor-car she sits up like a little lady and 
gives every evidence of blissful content. 

[ 217 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

She does not love other dogs much, and 
she puts up with no familiarities. You would 
be amused if you could see her try to drive 
both Dick and Kiki out of the house. Some- 
times she will play nicely, but if the humour 
seizes her she doesn't hesitate to snap at 
them. Luckily my dogs are perfect gentle- 
men, and evidently " for all the wealth of 
Indies would do nothing for to hurt her." 
When she nips their heels they look indul- 
gently down at her, and they actually smile. 
Dogs are nice beasties. 

In the meantime Khaki grows bigger and 
handsomer every day. Here Is how he 
looks, up in the arbor, gazing down at 
Tototte, who is whining just out of reach of 
the camera. I hope he'll live until you can 
come over to see him. He Is just a few 
weeks older than the war, so It Is easy to 
keep track of his birthday — he will be five 
in May. He Is very dignified, no longer 
playful, except now and then for my pleas- 
ure. But he Is sociable. He always likes 
to take his afternoon nap — it lasts from 
lunch-time to dinner — in the same room 
with me, and he loves company. Nothing 
ever wakes him in the afternoon but callers. 
No matter who comes, almost as soon as 
they are seated, he is sure to be standing on 
his hind legs beside them, his white pattes 
on the visitor's knee, and unless absolutely 
driven away, he jumps slowly up, curls him- 
[ 218 ] 




1. Khaki in the arbor looking down at Tototte 

2. Khaki in the garden waiting for his breakfast 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

self round and purrs and is happy. It was a 
bit embarrassing at first. Some people are 
afraid of cats, but almost every one says, 
" Oh, let him stay. I like cats, and feel flat- 
tered." I hope they speak the truth. I am 
convinced that he means to be hospitable. 
He knows no other way. It is probably " cat 
etiquette." Being a cat, you know that if 
anyone wanted to pick him up he would not 
stay with them a moment. He wants to go 
to them of his own volition. 

I suppose you think this is trivial stuff to 
feel interest in at this time. To speak the 
truth, it is a relief. We are all so war-worn 
here. The times are proving how difficult 
it is going to be to settle the problems of the 
future — with the hatreds that are going to 
survive, the misery and the pain that cannot 
be forgotten until this generation has passed 
out of sight with its thousands of spoiled 
men, and with all the destruction that this 
century cannot restore, — and always the 
Germans on the same globe with us. It 
would appall one if one did not remember 
that the world has lived through great dis- 
asters, survived them, risen above them, and 
all that each of us can do now is just our 
"bit" in each day's work as it passes, and do 
that "bit" with hope and patience. 

We 've had some rather nice weather, and 
I have been able to play out of doors. The 
tulips and jonquils are coming up. The prim- 

[ 219 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

roses are In flower, and Louise has been rak- 
ing the moss out of the lawn, for in this 
damp country, with its green winters, the 
prettiest sort of moss grows on everything, 
and especially does its best to choke the 
grass and usurp its place, — one of Nature's 
Huns, that moss. But the few nice days 
when we could really work to destroy it were 
interspersed with floods of rain. The rivers 
are still over their banks, and no field work 
is possible. 

Hope you are enjoying our president. 
We '11 have him back before you read this. 
Where is the capital of the great United 
States of America in these days? I often ask 
myself what Paris will be like when this is 
all over. Poor France, she has suffered all 
kinds of invasion this time ! 

Well, as I believe that nothing Is thrown 
away, I Insist on believing also that good will 
come of it. In a way it is educational. But 
try to imagine it — hundreds of boys on 
*' three days' Paris leave" are being toted 
about the city every day and being told things 
about history and literature and architecture, 
and Victor Hugo Is enjoying a renaissance 
as the most popular of their trips in town 
Is to the scenes of Jean Valjean's adventures 
in " Les Miserables," while all over France 
the new-made-Americans, who knew very 
little about anything and could neither read 
nor write, and hardly speak a word of En- 
[ 220 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

glish, are going to school while they wait to 
be taken home, and being taught what it 
really means to be an American citizen. 
There are compensations, you see, and some 
of the seed sown always matures. Geo- 
graphically, it has opened the world rather 
wide to all of us. We all know lots jnore 
about other countries and other people than 
we did five years ago. Lots of us know it 
all wrong, but that 's no matter. It is rather 
like our written examinations at school — 
it is by blundering that we get corrected, 
and to wish to know Is the beginning of 
learning. 



[ 221 ] 



XVII 

March 15, IQIQ 

I HAVE had rather an occupied week and 
I am thankful, because It is so hard to bear 
with the direction in which the Peace Con- 
gress is moving, after four months of nervous 
anxiety. Germany, had she won, would have 
imposed her conditions at once, and as a 
conqueror would have permitted no discus- 
sion. That we should be more human and 
better bred is well enough, but that every 
move of the Congress should be to soften 
conditions for Germany, and to consider 
not what Germany must be made to do, but 
what she wants to be made to do, has had 
a strange effect on every one. Little by little, 
people are forgetting what they owed to one 
another only a short time ago, and sometimes 
it seems almost as though they were forget- 
ting for what they fought, since all the hu- 
manitarian sentiment seems to be for Ger- 
many at the expense of France and Belgium. 

I tell myself every morning that I will not 
worry myself over the great problems, since, 
by the grace of God, I am not responsible, 
but it is hard, so I am glad for anything 
which occupies me. 
[ 222 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

I have been seeing a great deal of Amer- 
ican boys lately, and, really, they keep me on 
the broad grin all the time — they are so 
cocksure of themselves, so competent, and 
have often such a keen sense of humour. But 
oh, my ! oh, my ! They are the funniest things 
In the way of an army I ever dreamed of. 
Real soldiers. If they have the smallest sense 
of humour left In them after their army train- 
ing, must have what my grandmother used 
to call '' conniption fits " in these days. Just 
now the American Commander of Paris — 
that is not what he calls himself, but never 
mind, since I am about as green as the re- 
cruits — Is determined that the boys in Paris 
shall learn to salute their officers when they 
pass them In the street, and American Mili- 
tary policemen are on the lookout for boys 
who are careless or forget, and they get 
nabbed on the boulevards and elsewhere, and 
go — I suppose — to the guard-house for an 
hour or two, or perhaps they get a dose of 
*' pack-drill." But officers must have a hard 
time under the new regulations to keep a stiff 
and suitably military expression at times, es- 
pecially when something like this happens : A 
nice great big youngster from some agricul- 
tural district, who had probably never been 
ten miles from home until he became un- 
expectedly a recruit and had to travel to a 
camp and learn to drill, then had to come 
overseas to a country he had probably never 

[ 223 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

heard of before, had to learn some more 
drills and pass-words and all sorts of, to 
him, "silly rubbish." He had probably 
never before seen a soldier, perhaps never 
read of one, surely knew nothing about being 
one, and could not take it a bit seriously, nor 
learn to behave like a real soldier any more 
than he could like a real king. So one day, 
when he passed his major he just grinned 
good-naturedly and said, " Hello, Major," 
just as he would have said, " Hello, Bill," or 
"Hello, Ike," at home. 

The Major stopped and said to the lad, 
" Do you think that is the proper way to ad- 
dress your superior officer?" 

The soldier, still grinning but not embar- 
rassed, scratched his head and replied cheer- 
fully: "Wall, I dunno. You see there's so 
many of your Captains and Colonels and 
Majors and such-like about here, that I get 
sort of careless-like." 

Was It any wonder that when the Germans 
said the Americans were not an army but a 
mob that the Americans laughed and said, 
"You bet we are." Well, they licked them, 
that organized and drilled Boche army, all 
the same. But it sure has Its comic side. 

On Monday I made my first trip out to 
the scene of the beginning of the second 
battle of the Marne, as the guest of an 
American officer whom I knew before he 
cut his first teeth and who had just returned 
[ 224 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

from Germany on his way back to the 
States. 

You know Chateau-Thierry is only a little 
way from here. It was the first time I have 
been east of Meaux since I made my first 
pilgrimage to the field of the first battle of 
the Marne in December, 19 14, just three 
months after it was won. 

The run out to Chateau-Thierry from here 
took less than an hour in a little Ford car 
which has just come down from Germany, 
where it was pretty well used up; so with a 
new car — providing there was no speed 
limit — it could be done in a little over half 
that time. 

You can imagine how unimportant the 
distance is when I tell you we left my gate 
at eleven, ran out through Meaux and by 
way of Vareddes to Lizy-sur-Ourcq, where 
Von Kluck turned to face the Allied left wing 
in September, 19 14, and made a half circular 
detour to enter Chateau-Thierry from the 
north-west by the way of Torcy, Belleau 
Woods and Bouresches, returning by way 
of Vaux and down the valley of the Marne 
by way of Nanteuil-sur-Marne, Villiers-sur- 
Marne to La Ferte-sous-Jouarre, which was 
bombed from the air July 15th — you re- 
member when my sugar was burned — and 
Trilport into Meaux across the Marne home, 
and we were back at the gate at half-past 
five, having made half a dozen stops. 

[ 225 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

It was not an ideal day for the trip. It 
was grey and windy, and there was a fine 
drizzle of rain now and then. Still, it was not 
at all a bad day to see the French landscape 
— it was full of lights and shades, and some- 
times a half ray of sun broke through the 
clouds and seemed to pull the picture to- 
gether. A sunny day would have been less 
sad, but I doubt if it would have suited my 
mood any better. 

You are likely to make this trip some day, 
and perhaps not very far in the future. You 
will not see it as I saw it, and I did not see 
it as it was last June. But I cannot imagine 
anyone coming to France — any American — 
and not wanting to know all about the country 
where our boys first distinguished themselves. 
Being really the first front of the American 
Expeditionary Force, it will be more closely 
knit into the affections of the American 
people than any of the battle-fields except 
Cantigny and the Argonne Forest, between 
which the fight here was sandwiched. 

It is a really beautiful country and it is not 
devastated to ugliness. On passing through 
Meaux we ran directly out to Vareddes, 
through which the French pushed the Ger- 
mans in 19 14 with Chateau-Thierry as their 
objective, and descended the valley of the 
Ourcq to Vaux sur Coylomb, a picturesque 
little hamlet of about a hundred inhabitants, 
which looks as if it had never heard of such 
[ 226 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

a thing as war, and then took the road 
through Gandelu, Bouresches, Torcy and 
Belleau, into Chateau-Thierry from the 
north-west. 

Over the hne where the first battle of the 
Marne passed in the fall of 19 14 — four 
weeks after the Germans crossed the frontier 
— time has effaced almost every trace, so it 
was not until we neared Bouresches and 
Belleau that we began to realize that here 
battles had been fought. These three little 
hamlets are so tiny that, although they figure 
on road maps for the guidance of ardent 
automobilists, you will find no mention made 
of them in any guide-books, nor even on any 
government postal and telegraphic lists. 
Even by name they were, until June of last 
year, unknown to every one outside the im- 
mediate vicinity. Now, ruined as they all 
are, each bears at either end a board sign, 
with the name of the town painted In black 
letters. 

With the ruins of what was once a tiny 
hamlet on one hand, across a shell-torn field 
rises the small, densely wooded height whose 
name is known today to every American — 
the tragic Belleau Wood. The little hamlet 
is just a mass of fallen or falling walls, as 
c^serted as Pompeii and already looking 
centuries old. 

The road approaching it is still screaming 
with reminiscences of war four months after 

[ 227 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

the last gun was fired. All along the way 
are heaps of salvaged stuff of all sorts — 
mountains of empty shell cases of all sizes, 
piles of wicker baskets containing unused 
German shell, thrown down and often broken 
shell racks, all sorts of telegraphic materials, 
cases of machine-gun belts, broken kitchens, 
smashed buckets, tangles of wire and rolls 
of new barbed wire — in fact all the debris of 
modern warfare plus any quantity of aban- 
doned German artillery material left in their 
retreat — everything, in fact, except guns 
and corpses. 

Across the fields still zigzag barbed-wire 
entanglements in many places, while In 
others the old wire Is rolled up by the road- 
side. Here and there is still a trench, while 
a line of freshly turned soil in the green fields 
shows where the trenches have been filled in. 

In the banks along the road are the 
German dugouts, with broken drinking cups, 
tin boxes, dented casques, strewn about the 
entrances, which are often broken down, 
while every little way are the " foxholes " In 
the banks marking the places where the 
American boys tried to dig in. The ground 
before the town which the Germans had 
shelled so furiously, as the Americans were 
pushing through to cross the fields and clean 
out the wooded hill opposite, has been swept 
and ploughed by the artillery of both sides. 
The American Captain whose guest I was 
[ 228 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

could say, from a glance at the shell holes : 
"That Is one of ours." "That was one of 
theirs." "That Is a 75." " That Is an 88." 
" That Is a 240." " This place was rushed." 
"That place was shelled." 

Seeing It now, after eight months, imagine 
what It must have been after the Americans 
had advanced and retreated twice there 
before they finally passed over It and des- 
perately fought their way through that wood 
with Its nest of machine guns. 

Nature Is a kindly creature, In spite of the 
abuse we often heap on her, because she 
seems so unfeeling, so unmoved. Anyway, 
she abhors stagnation. She Is doing her best 
to heal the scarred landscape, but Belleau 
Wood, across the field from the ruined 
hamlets. Is a sinister sight still. It Is a 
ghastly sort of place to fight In, — a thickly 
wooded slope, a tangle of uncleared brush 
on the outskirts ideal for masking machine 
guns, and the clearing of it, while done with 
less absolute suffering than In the awful days 
in the Argonne, called for big feats of per- 
sonal courage and a terrible loss of life. 
There, time and time again, our boys pushed 
by the carefully concealed machine guns to be 
shot in the back. 

Today the whole hill Is shell-shot. The 
trees hang dead, dried and broken. The 
ground looks as though verdure could never 
clothe it again. Of course it will, and soon, 

[ 229 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

but it did not give me that impression on 
Monday. Everywhere else Nature has al- 
ready laid her soothing hands, but she has yet 
to touch that tragic wood. On the grey, rain- 
washed walls of the little hamlets, green 
things already trail and wild flowers are be- 
ginning to grow. Even the shell-holes in the 
fields are gay with dandelions and field prim- 
roses, pdquerettes and boutons d^or. But 
Belleau Wood, as seen from the ruined ham- 
let, is an open grief on the face of Nature. 

The roads are absolutely deserted — ex- 
cept for Americans. Across the broken 
fields toward the dark forest, groups of 
boys in khaki, or women in the uniforms 
of the various relief units, were constantly 
passing as we sat In the road between the ruins 
and the wood. At every corner stood an 
American camion or a camionette, and we 
passed no other sort of automobile on the 
road, and no other pedestrians, as we slowly 
ran over the sacred ground through ruined 
Torcy and Into Chateau-Thierry. My mind 
was obsessed by the imaginary picture of the 
fighting in such a place — the beginning of 
the last phase of the war with its struggle for 
positions, as old-fashioned as war Itself. 
One could imagine all the noise in the spot 
today so silent, and the movement in the fields 
today so deserted. Along the quiet roadsides 
He burled the American lads who fell here 
in the long battle which ended the war. 
[ 230 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

All the little cemeteries are alike — rec- 
tangular spaces, enclosed in a wire fence. 
Usually there are three or four guns stacked 
in the centre, often surmounted by a "tin 
hat," as the boys call their helmets. There 
are always several lines of graves, each with 
a wooden cross at the head with a small 
American flag set in a round disk under 
isinglass, surrounded by a green metal frame 
representing a wreath, to which is attached 
a small card-shaped plaque with the name 
and number. Eventually all the names will 
be printed on the horizontal bar of the cross, 
as they are in some cases already. 

None of these cemeteries about Chateau- 
Thierry is large. They are all on the banks 
on the side of the road, and I can't tell you 
how I felt as we approached the first, and 
stopped the car beside it, and crawled out Into 
the mud. Just now the well-ordered graves 
are not sodded. I suppose it was the Idea of 
seeing so many graves — we saw at least a 
dozen of these little cemeteries — and re- 
membering how young they were who slept 
there that impressed me at first. I wonder 
how I would feel If I ever saw the one In the 
Argonne where over twenty thousand Amer- 
icans will sleep together? Later, I Imagine, 
when the graves are all properly tended, the 
scene would lose its look of sadness, like the 
English cemetery at Etampes, where a gar- 
dener and twenty women have nothing to do 

[ 231 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

but beautify It, and show the French, whose 
cities of the dead are still formal and sad, 
what the English churchyard and the Amer- 
ican garden-like burial grounds are. 

I was sorry the day was so bad, because 
the snapshots I took near Belleau Wood 
give a mere hint of the scene. But perhaps 
you can guess at It, and the little wrecked 
hamlet near by, of which I tried to get a 
picture. Always the light, such as It was, 
came on the wrong side. I should have 
been there In the early morning Instead of 
at noon. 

I cannot tell you how beautiful this part 
of the Marne Valley is. Chateau-Thierry 
Itself Is a lovely town on the right bank of 
the river, built on the side of a hill, which Is 
crowned by the ruins of a feudal castle, to 
which one climbs by steep steps to pass 
through a Gothic arch between two huge 
round towers Into a lovely public park, well 
wooded, and, from the platform of the old 
castle, get a wide and picturesque view of the 
valley. That part of the town had to be con- 
tinually bombarded to dislodge the Ger- 
man artillery during the fifty days of their 
occupation. 

The streets are steep, and the town has 
a well-situated church of no special Interest 
as French churches go — St. CrepIn — which 
Americans will of course view with a certain 
interest because it was on its steps that Gen- 

[ 232 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

eral Pershing stood to accept the grateful 
ovation of the town after its liberation, and 
to receive the children and their flowers. 

Of course the town is In a state of chaos 
today. It has no gas, as the Germans blew 
up the gas works, and the streets are in great 
disorder still. 

As we rode through the town, after enter- 
ing It by one of the temporary bridges which 
replace those destroyed in the fighting, it 
seemed to me that there was nobody there 
but American soldiers, and German prisoners 
working In the streets, their green coats bear- 
ing on the back in huge white letters P. W. or 
P. G., according to their surrender to Amer- 
icans or Frenchmen. They were a husky 
looking lot of youngsters and evidently well 
cared for and perfectly contented. 

I remarked on the number of Americans 
In the town — officers, soldiers, women — 
and my host simply replied over his shoulder: 
" Chateau-Thierry is an American town. 
We took it." Without any comment that 
comes near to giving the attitude of most of 
the boys over here now. 

There has always been an American col- 
ony at Chateau-Thierry, and judging by the 
signs, it will be even larger in the future than 
in the past. By the time you are able to get 
over, there will be English tea-rooms. I 
know of one that is being Installed there al- 
ready, for Chateau-Thierry will very likely 

[ 233 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

be the point from which most of the Amer- 
ican excursions over the field will start. 

I was surprised to find the town little 
knocked to pieces — comparatively speaking. 
The bridges, on which the American ma- 
chine-gunners fought, are down, and along 
the river front there are signs of the bom- 
bardment, and here and there, up the steep 
streets, we saw a space between buildings 
where heaps of stone and plaster told 
of a house destroyed. But the town will 
be easily rebuilt, and the work is already 
begun. 

We came back down the north bank of the 
Marne through Nanteuil-sur-Marne, where 
the valley is very deep. From the road on 
the top of the hill we looked into the valley 
and across the river to the little hamlets 
nestled in the green slope on the other bank, 
— one of the most beautiful pictures I ever 
saw. Personally I do not think that it is so 
int'ime or so gay as my end of the valley. 
It Is on a grander scale. I could imagine 
myself being impressed up at Nanteuil, and 
perhaps lonely. I could never be either down 
here. 

Only twelve miles east of Chateau-Thierry 
lies Dormans, where the Germans crossed 
the Marne at the limit of their advance on 
Paris last spring, and where the American 
boys drove them back. We had not time to 
go on even that twelve miles, although there 

[ 234 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

is a good church tower of the twelfth cen- 
tury and the ruin of a chateau of the time of 
the mad Charles VI. 

We ran out of Chateau-Thierry by way of 
the ruined hamlet of Vaux, another of those 
tiny places which will never be restored but 
will grow prettier and more decorative as 
time dresses the ruins with beauty, in a land- 
scape where ruins never seem out of place, 
alas ! We skipped through Essonnes without 
even stopping to look at what was left of the 
thirteenth-century abbey, but we did make 
a detour beyond Charly to pass round the 
Chateau de Villiers-sur-Marne, — the home 
of Francis Wilson's daughter, Madame 
Huard, and the scene of *' My Home on the 
Field of Honor." There, finding the big 
gates standing wide open, and only a few 
soldiers in the neglected park, we took the 
liberty of making the wide circular drive part 
of our route, just to say we had been there, 
passing in front of the closed chateau, and on 
by Nanteuil and Rouil to La Ferte-sous- 
Jouarre, a rather prosperous-looking, siz- 
able town where they used to make mill- 
stones, — and do still, for all I know. We 
had not either the time or the spirit to run 
out a mile to the historical town of Jouarre, 
a seventh-century place, which I am keeping 
for a special trip, but rushed on through 
Trilport, where the English destroyed the 
big bridge in 19 14, and immediately after- 

[ 235 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

ward a big German automobile dashed into 
the river and drowned four officers. 

It was an easy and very picturesque little 
trip. Except for the sadness of the destroyed 
villages and the first shock of standing beside 
so many American graves, the excursion 
from here has none of the terror-striking 
elements, none of the emotionally over- 
whelming moments of the excursions in the 
north, where the mutilation of Rheims is 
simply heartbreaking, and the desolation of 
the Chemin des Dames rivals Dante's 
Inferno. Indeed, from the line on which the 
Americans as an army first distinguished 
themselves, east and north one moves in a 
crescendo of devastation, grief and pain. 

Still, an American woman who has been 
going back and forward over that devastated 
country said to me the other day, as she 
stopped at my gate to say "howdy" on her 
way into Paris : " Terrible as it all is it gets 
less terrible every day. Time is doing its 
work, and time is such a healer." 

Is n't it lucky that it is ? But of course man 
has got to get to work there soon and dis- 
figure again nature's work in an effort to " re- 
store " the devastated regions. I have seen 
discouraged people who feel today that it 
never should be restored simply to have Ger- 
many come across again as soon as she is 
rested. It is a serious problem. Much of the 
capital invested there has been diverted to 
[ 236 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

other and geographically safer parts of 
France, and to Algeria, and unless the coming 
treaty gives France promise of greater secur- 
ity than it seems likely to do today the fate of 
north-east France is a sad one. When you 
consider that it will take six months' hard 
work to clear the ruins away from one town 
like St. Quentin alone, and that France must 
build up her commerce and her civil life in 
competition with undestroyed countries and 
that her working capacity is diminished by 
one fourth, I agree that it is a sorry outlook. 
The only consolation is that she has arisen 
from calamities in the past, and in some way 
I believe she can from this. I only hope that 
the world will be patient with her. 

My mind does wander. Lay it to the 
brain fag of four years and a half of war, 
and be patient. I meant to tell you what 
you will want to know, that the Graves' Reg- 
istration Survey — if that is what it officially 
calls itself — and the American Engineers 
have done simply colossal work in the diffi- 
cult country in which the American boys 
fought, to locate every grave to photo- 
graph it, with each photograph, carefully 
marked, so that when the time comes for the 
families to make their pious pilgrimages to 
the spot in France which has been made 
sacred by the boys they gave to the great 
cause there will be no difficulty in locating the 
graves of all those who were identified. 

[ 237 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

The attempt to kill Clemenceau created a 
great stir here. He came through it won- 
derfully for his age. It would have been 
a world's loss had he disappeared at such a 
critical time. 

Lloyd George has Wilson hypnotized. 
I often wonder If Wilson knows It. To me 
it is one of the comic sides of these days to 
sec Lloyd George leading the Imperial 
British lion In chains. I remember the at- 
titude toward the stocky Welsh lawyer not 
so very long before the war, when some 
Englishman was defining the difference be- 
tween an accident and a disaster, and gave 
as an example: "If Lloyd George should 
fall Into the Thames It would be an accident : 
if any one pulled him out It would be a dis- 
aster." Well, other days, other opinions, 
perhaps. Anyway, he Is not leading Clem- 
enceau yet, but the old Tiger, even with the 
French cock — bloody spurs well sharpened 
— on his wrist — Is having a hard fight 
against Lloyd George and the Lion and Wil- 
son and the Eagle, and It Is a pity. The 
battle Is over. The umpires, sitting on the 
edge of the bloody cockpit, seem to have 
turned their back on it, and In their desire 
to Impose their theories to have forgotten 
the fight — how It happened, and where It 
was, and what It was about. 

Of course you will say that I am nervous. 
I am. So is every thinking person in France, 

[ 238 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

and so we shall be until Peace is really signed. 
Then, providing that Germany is really pun- 
ished, even although the terms of the Peace 
do not altogether please us, we shall bind up 
our loins and make the best of it. I cannot 
tell you how anxious every one here is to 
have it done, that knowing even the worst, 
we can take up our lives and go on. There 
are many in France — as there are all over 
the world — who want to begin to forget. 
There are many — judging by appearances 
— who already have. But neither class in- 
cludes those on whom the future depends. 
Isn't it lucky that just as more things than 
men and cannon fought in this war — other- 
wise there was no reason why Germany 
should not have won out — something be- 
sides politicians or man's finite will is to 
direct the course of the future? 

Well, spring is soon coming. With its 
coming, as usual, we shall all brace up. At 
least I shall, and so quite naturally I expect 
every one else to. Besides, it won't be long be- 
fore the big pond will be open to all comers 
who have the price, and perhaps we two may 
see each other again. It is a cheery thought 
to go to sleep on — so good-night, and happy 
dreams. 



[ 239 ] 



XVIII 

May Day, igig 

Well^ this has been a horrid month. 

I have not felt like writing. There is 
nothing happening here except what you 
know as much about as we do, which is prac- 
tically nothing. Nearly six monthis since 
the armistice, and the Peace Conference is 
still sitting, and hatching nothing but discord. 
That, too, in secrecy only unveiled for a mo- 
ment when something happens like a prime- 
minister rushing home in anger to consult 
the people he represents. I notice that our 
Mr. Wilson, author of the phrase " Open 
covenants of Peace, openly arrived at," does 
not ask any of the people of the great United 
States what they think. Not he. It really 
is a pity that he can't return to the States, 
booted and spurred, cravache In hand, and, 
with the gesture of a Louis XIV (whom In 
some ways he singularly resembles) dismiss 
Congress with the equivalent to the sixteenth 
century, '^ Uetat, c'est moi/^^ 

Anyway, he has lost the French. Like 
some of the decorations they have bestowed 
in a hurry lately, they'd take back the ova- 
[ 240 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

tion given him if they could. Alas! ''^ Les 

paroles restent/' amd acts also I 

The weather has been simply abominable. 
I remember many a May Day of my youth, 
when we wore muslin dresses and only a 
wreath of flowers on our heads. That was 
In the early sixties when children had their 
neck and arms bared, so I am sure that 
climates have changed. Today It Is terribly 
cold, a heavy rain Is falling, and I have a big 
fire roaring in the salon. 

It Is trying to have weather like this of 
today — and worse — right through April, 
since the work In the fields and gardens ought 
to begin. We planted peas and onions the 
first week in April, and sowed flowers In pots 
to be re-set as soon as the ground was In 
condition. We got out begonia bulbs and 
put them In cases to start under cover, looked 
over dahlia roots, trimmed rose bushes and 
rearranged the borders — and there every- 
thing stopped. 

Fruit-trees all flowered beautifully, but 
with the menace of the hme rousse ahead of 
us, and coming very late this year, and with 
the sad fruitless three years behind us, we 
did not feel very courageous, and had reason 
not to be so. 

There was hardly a sunny day all through 
April, and we had many rainy ones with the 
ground too wet to work. In the middle of 
the month it began to pour great buckets, 

[ 241 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

and, oh! It was cold, and on the 29th the 
lune rousse was ushered in by a snowstorm, 
following a night of frost. Yesterday it 
hailed, and as all the blossoms were wide 
open I reckon that is the end of any hope of 
fruit up here. 

We are approaching the days when the 
terms of the Peace Treaty must be given to 
the world. The German delegates will soon 
be here to listen to the conditions which 
should be dictated with the order " take them 
or leave them, but discuss them not." In- 
stead, I am afraid, the ultimation will take 
another form, and the Allies extend to their 
conquered foe a courtesy they never would 
have received had the order of things been 
reversed. But there is no use in worrying 
over that. We will have to accept the situa- 
tion as it is, and do our mending afterwards. 
Afterwards will include many years to come. 
Germany can recover at once. France can- 
not, except by a miracle. Still, France is a 
land that has seen miracles; she may achieve 
another. One of two things is certain, she 
will brace up to it, or she won't. It is to 
laugh, isn't it? 

Everything is quiet here, outwardly. Of 
course, there is a suppressed unrest which can 
only be cured by the actual signing of the 
peace, and even then I am afraid that we 
shall continue to look nervously at the upset 
world and all the menace of Germany's re- 
[ 242 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching PIome 

lations In the east, which no Peace Congress 
like that of today can arrange with any magic 
wand of their acquaintance. 

Every intelligent person knows that what 
is today called Bolshevism has in some form 
followed every great war the world has 
known. Like a disease, I suppose it has to 
run its course. In the meantime, some 
people say funny things. I heard a person 
who never had to work in his life, and who 
calls himself a " student of sociology," say 
the other day, " Never again will the people 
be mere pawns in the hands of the classes." 
I wanted to ask him what would become of 
him if the masses were mounted and began 
to ride? All I am sure of isi that you and I 
will have to get a gait on if we don't want 
to be ridden down when the masses begin to 
move. You know I love to see people get on. 
As a rule they do if they have the ability, 
and no road is closed to ability. Some of the 
leading men in the world have " gotten on." 
But that people, simply because they are 
"people," demand "to get on," because 
there is such a thing as " getting on," when 
they " ain't got no excuse," is another thing. 
However, these things — Bolshevist or not — 
don't scare me. There is a logic in it, and 
It works Itself out. It Is painful to look at, 
of course, at times almost heartbreaking. 
But once more — something moves across 
the epochs more forceful than mere man- 

[ 243 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

power. I am sure of that. We can't see it. 
We ought not, since it is up to us to do our 
level handsomest, and have faith in the final 
issue of the struggle. 

Nothing is so irritating to me as this idea 
that "people" are capable of governing 
themselves, or that they have proved them- 
selves worthy to be taken into the confidence 
of those who do govern. If all the people 
were virtuous, we should have need for 
neither laws nor prisons. You and I have 
no desire to take what does not belong to us, 
no inclination to kill. Consequently we need 
no laws except to protect us from those of 
different tastes. But that modern Utopians 
should deliver us over to the rule of the mass 
which has different ideas is to me absurd. 
I firmly believe that people like to be gov- 
erned, but they must be governed with a firm 
hand, and respect the governing power. The 
odd thing about the whole great war is that 
it has produced for no country as yet a na- 
tional hero, and, oh I one is needed today. 
Instead of that there is a tendency to raise 
the so-called "people" on a pedestal, and 
see the result — discord everywhere. 

I often ask myself, as I watch the lack of 
accord about the Peace Table (?), what 
England and America would have done if 
their domains had been devastated as have 
those of France and Belgium. I imagine the 
atmosphere at the conference would have 

[ 244 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

beeni a tiny bit different. It is easy to bear 
every one's disasters but our own. But this 
time we must all bear our part. Just as 
against their will the Allied Nations went to 
war and bore it over four years, so, whether 
or not they like the Peace ( ?) that is going 
to be arranged, they must accept it as they 
accepted the unwelcome war. 

But let us change the subject. 

One thing I must tell you. I caught Khaki 
in the asparagus bed this morning nosing 
about for little green heads just peeping out. 
I had to punish him — not that it will do 
him much good. Asparagus is his one passion 
in the way of green stuff. You 'd love to see 
him eating his plate of it just as daintily as 
any well-bred person would do. He picks 
up a piece in his claws, puts the tender end 
in his mouth and chews it slowly down, leav- 
ing as neat a piece on his plate as you or I 
could do. In the old days, when he was less 
knowing, he used to be content with the ends 
I left, but one day he found a dish, left to 
cool for supper, and sat down beside it and- 
ate off all the tender heads. Since then he 
has turned his nose up at my leavings. 

In your letter of February 5th you tell me 
of strange tales which are reaching the States 
regarding the attitude of our boys in the oc- 
cupied German territory, and remark that 
you suppose, as I have not mentioned it, that 
the tales are probably not true. Well, we 

[ 245 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

hear the same stories here, but in a certain 
sense I am not much better placed to know 
the truth than you are. To be sure, I get 
all such rumours byword of mouth, while you 
get them from the American newspaper cor- 
respondents who are accompanying the 
American boys on the Rhine. 

Do you remember that I wrote you in the 
middle of December, when I had just seen 
an American officer who had been at Stras- 
bourg when the French troops entered the 
city, that all the things he told me were not 
so encouraging as his story of the enthusiasm 
of Alsace for the French victory? Well, I 
referred exactly to the rumours of that sort 
which we had, even before then, heard from 
French poilus who came home from their 
furlough not a fortnight after the armistice. 
I did not think It wise to go Into the matter 
then, and I should not do It now, if Clem- 
enceau In his appeal, made for America, and 
consequently familiar to you all, had not long 
ago referred to the story — current every- 
where — "that the Americans were frater- 
nizing with the Germans," and expressed his 
opinion that It " could not be true." 

That much has been said broadcast, so one 
might as well look at the story as we heard 
It here. It came first from a French poilu 
who said at my gate, " You know that before 
the war we all felt that a great many Amer- 
icans really liked the Germans. Well, they 

[ 246 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

really do. You ought to see them together 
out there In Germany!" 

It was easy to contradict it and to explain 
that the American temperament was rather 
Inclined to be sporty — they had licked the 
Germans, but they probably bore no malice, 
and I tried to explain the Anglo-Saxon idea 
of playing the game, but it made me nervous 
all the same. When I talked it over with an 
American officer, he laughed and said: 
*' Well, to tell you the tnjth, when our boys 
marched out of devastated France and came 
into the Rhine country, so pretty, so com- 
fortable and so clean, they were inclined to 
cry ^ So this Is Germany ! It looks like home. 
And these are the people? Why, they look 
just like us,' but it won't last." 

Since then I have talked with lots of people 
about it, and I find the situation both pos- 
sible and logical. Remember that our boys 
had a hard time here. They were most un- 
comfortable. They did not have four long 
years of fighting in which to become familiar- 
ized with German methods. They came to 
fight in a strange country, among people 
they did not understand, whose language 
they did not speak. They came full of 
Illusions. All most of them ever saw of 
France was in camp — from the door of a 
cattle car, which always avoided cities, or 
in terrible fighting in a devastated country, 
or among poor, hungry, suffering people. 

[ 247 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

Take, for example, the lads who were in the 
forty-two days' fighting in the Argonne, 
where they suffered from lack of food, lack 
of water, errors of barrage — in fact every- 
thing which an army under the best of con- 
ditions must often suffer in such a war, plus 
the very worst that may come to pass, and 
don't forget that they were new to it. 

Well, these boys after months — not years 
— of that sort of experience, after living in 
a devastated country, being billeted in ruins, 
often without shelter In the rain, sometimes 
sleeping in the mud, too weary to care, 
marched out of the nightmare and arrived 
in Germany — a lovely country, untouched 
by the war. For the first time in months 
they were billeted in unsmashed houses. For 
the first time in months they walked on side- 
walks in clean streets, where there were 
shops, in which those who had money In their 
pockets could buy things. For the first time 
In months they slept In beds and saw women 
and children walking about not clad in rags ; 
they saw coal fires, streets lit by electricity — 
for the universal testimony is that the con- 
quering armies saw no signs of misery in 
Germany. Naturally it looked like home, 
and I don't doubt that some of them — prob- 
ably German born — did cry, "Why, these 
are the people ! They look just like us." 

Besides, the German people were under 
orders — propaganda work is better ar- 

[ 248 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

ranged than ever In Germany — and some 
of them were afraid. All of them would — 
no matter what their feelings — curry favor 
— the German always cringes when he is the 
under dog, just as he bullies when he thinks 
he is the stronger. 

I have discussed the situation with a great 
many officers since then, and they all agree 
that the longer the Americans have to stay 
in the occupied territory the better they will 
understand the real state of things. The 
ordinary American boy Is too clever to be 
taken In long by the German attitude. He 
soon thinks It over and reflects that It Is not 
possible for the Germans to love the Amer- 
icans as ardently as they profess to do so 
soon after such a terrible war, so bitterly 
fought and actually lost to them by American 
aid. The most intelligent of our boys soon 
enough learned to despise such fawning and 
hypocrisy, and that feeling will spread like 
a contagion. It may be a good and timely 
lesson for the Americans, and help tremen- 
dously in their final judgment of the enemy 
they have fought. A tendency to forget the 
fighting Is natural to youth just after It Is 
over, but. In the end, the Germans will prob- 
ably find that they have again overleaped 
the situation in their tendency to judge others 
by themselves. 

The systematic manner In which the propa- 
ganda to change the opinion of the victor 

[ 249 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

in regard to the real character of the Ger- 
mans has been organized was explained to 
me by an officer who "had been there." As 
a rule, it amazes the officers and then dis- 
gusts them. 

When American officers arrived in an 
occupied town and stopped their cars before 
a hotel, the obsequious proprietor came bow- 
ing and smiling to the door, and, rubbing his 
hands, expressed regret that he had no rooms 
vacant for them, but informed them that he 
had a list of private houses where they could 
be received and made comfortable. So he 
consulted a list, put a hall boy on to the car 
to accompany them, and in a jiffy the officers 
found themselves gorgeously installed, with 
the hostess at their disposal, places at the 
family table, in every way treated as hon- 
oured guests. There was nothing that was 
not done for them, from washing their linen 
to mending their socks, and they were made 
to feel that it was a happiness to the family 
to serve them, — and pay refused. 

Strange people, who seem to think the 
men who have fought can forget so easily, 
or so easily believe that they have forgotten. 
These women who sang hymns of praise 
for the sinking of the Liisitania with its 
freight of women and children, who cheered 
the execution of Edith Cavell, who spat into 
the drinking cups of wounded English pris- 
oners, after four years of the misery their 
[ 250 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

nation brought on the world, imagine that 
now it Is over we can forget, and that all 
there Is to do Is to kiss and make up. Even 
If it were possible to them, how despicable 
it would make the race, and how stupid it 
makes them appear to suppose that it Is 
possible to us ! The dodge won't work with 
the French, not much with the English, and 
even with our well-meaning, inexperienced 
lads, it will, In the end, defeat itself. They 
don't want to have fought for nothing. 

So don't worry. As my grandmother used 
to say, " It will all come out in the wash." 
Be sure that It will. Besides, already the real 
German character is beginning to show itself 
out there In the occupied country, and before 
our boys go home they bid fair to hate the 
Germans as much — well, as sincerely as I 
do — and good thing it is, too. 



[ 251 ] 



XIX 

May 12, iQig 

The fine weather came just after I wrote 
to you last, and with it came everywhere the 
signs that, in spite of the delay in signing the 
peace, in spite of the irritation of having 
the Germans so long at Versailles, the war 
is really over. 

The delivery automobiles from the Paris 
shops and from Meaux are again running 
over our hill. The garden borders — Dc- 
sespoir des Peintres, Corbeille d' argent, Eng- 
lish grass — are all in flower. Roses are in 
bud, lilac is in flower. The sun shines. The 
Germans are seeing the '' promised land," 
in which they only arrive as the conquered, 
in all its loveliness. 

Business took me up to Paris last week, 
and it was a surprising sight. Never, in your 
best days, did you ever see Paris so wonder- 
fully beautiful, or so fascinating. The 
crowded streets, the uniforms, the brilliant 
shops, the incessant movement, beautiful 
dresses, handsome men, lovely women, and 
everywhere the signs of money, and money! 
It simply stunned me. 
[ 252 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

I did not go out to the races. I long ago 
outgrew the taste for that, even if I had 
kept the necessary strength. But those 
whom I saw who did go assured me that 
never had they seen anything approaching 
it In charm and dash and brilliancy. Never 
had they seen such wonderful clothes, such 
a kaleidoscopic vision of changing colours to 
which the thousands of gala uniforms of all 
the Allied nations added a note not seen 
since the days of the Empire. 

I was glad — much as I was amazed — 
to think that some of our boys from home 
were seeing It. 

A great many people were shocked. 

Still, Paris Is not France, and It seems to 
me that the situation Is understandable. 
After five years, natural character — long 
repressed — will assert Itself. Victorious 
Paris, so brave In Its days of cruel suspense 
and approaching danger, cannot be expected, 
now that the menace has been removed, to 
persist In grieving. Besides, on the very 
resurrection of her Inborn spirit depends 
much of the hope of reviving the prosperity 
of France. Even those who criticize her 
most are, I notice, enjoying It with great 
enthusiasm. No one In his heart wants Paris 
changed. I am sure that I do not. 

I wish you could have been here to see the 
horse-chestnut trees in flower. But you have 
seen them, and to see Paris at that season 

[ '^S2 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

is always to love her. So close your eyes 
and call up the most beautiful May you ever 
saw in Paris, and multiply the impression by 
the spirit of relief from agony, and to that 
the presence of thousands of officers in gala 
uniforms, and the strange costumes of the 
women, with their reminders of eastern 
harems, such as the west has never before 
dared to wear, and you will approximate the 
scene of today, when women wear their skirts 
almost to their knees, and go bare-armed 
by daylight and go as decollete at noon as 
they used to go to balls — and that only In 
what we uced to call the " smart set." 

It would not be wise to conclude from this 
that the seriousness which we dreamed was 
to follow the great trial through which hu- 
manity has passed will not come. This is 
Paris — still " gay Paree " — in its first 
spasm of relief — and Paris is not the world, 
though it is and always will be the world's 
joy, and life there is good to live. 

I have had occasion to think lately that we 
were all too much upset at the German armies 
marching, laurel crowned and singing, from 
the battle front home. Horrid as it looked 
to us at the time, and shocking as it was to 
our pride, I fancy that It might be explained 
largely by the love of life innate in us all. 
They had escaped ! They were going home ! 
That would have been a sufficient expla- 
nation, although, In their arrogance, they put 

[ 254 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

another face on it. It was bad taste, of 
course. But can one expect good taste or 
dignity from the race which has given us 
over four years' experience of worse char- 
acteristics than a simple lack of tact? 

Before you read this little scrawl — if my 
letter does not go quicker than usual — the 
treaty may be signed, and life recommence. 
I imagine none of us are going to be perfectly 
satisfied, but one thing is sure, — the Ger- 
mans in the end will sign. They must. They 
are going to make all the difficulties they can, 
but they will sign. They cannot postpone 
much longer the evil hour, when, under 
military escort, they must ride through the 
streets of Versailles — the nearest symbolic 
approach modern etiquette will permit to 
being dragged behind the victor's chariot — 
to sign the clauses of their defeat In the Hall 
of Mirrors, where forty-eight years ago 
they arrogantly dared proclaim on French 
soil King William of Prussia Emperor of 
Germany. It will be a humiliation In spite of 
every effort taken to camouflage the fact, 
and a very wonderful day for Versailles. 
Be sure the movies ought to give you this, 
whether they are allowed to or not. 

In the meantime, all the Americans are 
going home as fast as possible, except such 
of the army as must help to guard the fron- 
tier, and the American Military Police 
necessary to keep them in order there and on 

[ ^ss ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

leave, and such of the Red Cross personnel 
as will remain in the work of the Allied 
Bureau. The truth is that it is the wish of 
France that they should go. It has been 
expressed with every delicacy, with every 
expression of eternal gratitude, and accom- 
panied by a most generous distribution of 
every sort of decoration, but in unmistak- 
able terms. France has got to " clean 
house." She wishes to, and should be al- 
lowed to do it in her own way, and in ac- 
cordance with her own taste. 

Most of the American soldiers want to 
go back to the "land of heart's desire'* — 
the " Little Old United States." But there 
are plenty of Americans — men and women 
— who do not want to go. Many American 
youngsters — boys and girls — have had the 
time of their lives, and it seems to them a 
pretty tame thing to go back to the States 
and settle down to a humdrum life in which 
there will be no excitement and in which 
laws of conventionality must be conformed 
to. They will have to resign themselves, 
unless they get a job here, and peace-time 
jobs will be different from war-time jobs. 

Speaking of jobs — let me tell you some- 
thing amusing. Every one who has a scrap 
of influence is pulling wires already for a 
job at Geneva in the League of Nations. 
Talk about carpet baggers! It was not a 
patch on what the office seekers' efforts to 

[ 256 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

get to Geneva will be. Funny, isn't It? 
Well, it will be funnier if the U. S. Senate 
blocks the way and the League of Nations 
turns out a pipe dream or a castle in Spain. 
Well, you may know that before you read 
this. Why, I know Irishmen, if you please, 
real independent, anti-English Irishmen, who 
hope for a job at Geneva. 

Well, we fussed because it rained so much 
in March and April. Now it is too dry, and 
we pray for water and don't get it. It has 
not rained out here since the last day of 
April, and the calendar says it won't rain for 
weeks. I have planted my corn. It got a 
good soaking for a whole day before the 
planting, but. In spite of heat, I am anxious 
about it. Cucumbers are coming up bravely, 
strawberries are In flower, but the hail In the 
last two days of April ruined my cherries. I 
have told you before that the life of a farmer 
Is hard. So you would be kind to pray for 
rain for me. While you are about it, please 
pray for the kind I want. I want it to rain 
every night, and sunshine every day. It will 
save a lot of work — like drawing water, 
and working the hand pump. I am busy 
picking caterpillars off my roses, and shak- 
ing hannetons out of the trees and sweeping 
them up by the bucketful. What with doing 
that and worrying about the Germans, and 
writing you letters, I am getting pretty well 
used up. Like every one else I am beginning 

[ 257 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

to realize what the war has done for me, and 
I feel as though I ought to send in a bill for 
indemnit}^ to Germany — one creditor to 
Germany for one solid set of nerves badly 
damaged. Of course it would only be an- 
other " chiffon de papier ^ 

I shall probably write you one or two 
more letters, and then give myself a vacation. 
I am afraid that after this, when you want 
news from the hilltop, you will have to come 
over and get it. Besides, I shall depend on 
you to tell me what kind of a life Johnny 
has really marched back to. I have done 
my very best to give you an idea of the 
sort of country he has gone marching away 
from. 

There are lots of things that I am sure I 
should have told you, if we could have sat 
down for a good old chat such as we used 
to have in the last century. Sometimes I have 
forgotten, In the hurry, to tell you very in^ 
teresting things, and I am sure that if we 
ever get together again we shall jaw away 
just as energetically as if I had not written 
to you so constantly through these hard 
years. If you keep these letters, the mere 
reading of them over In the future will call 
up any number of Interesting facts and ab- 
sorbing thoughts, as many, I am sure, as if 
I had not written. Even as I write this I 
think about the many firesides where, at 
this minute, the returned soldier Is telling 

[ 258 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

the family the tale of his adventure as they 
hang over the map on which he traces the 
movements of the battles. I had this very 
morning a letter from the Far West telling 
of just such a gathering, where mother and 
grandmother, sisters and cousins and the 
"girl he left behind him" had gathered about 
one home-arriving doughboy for just such 
a treat. 

This is one of many letters that have come 
back across the Atlantic to tell me how 
heavenly glad the boys are to set foot once 
more on their native soil. 

I can imagine it. 

Don't you remember, when we were 
younger, how we used to go over to the dock 
at East Boston to meet friends — envied 
friends — returning from a summer trip to 
Europe, and how our hearts used to beat 
as the ship came into the dock with the band 
playing and every one singing: 

^^ Home again, home again^ from a foreign 
shore, 
And, oh, it fills my heart with joy, 
' To greet my friends once more^^ ? 

" Going to Europe " has become such a 
common thing since the days of your youth 
and mine that girls of this generation would 
feel silly to "sing in" their home coming. 
Yet as a race, we Americans are the senti- 
mentalists of the world, and during this war 

[ 259 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

the world has found us out, and is amazed 
at the discovery. 

It seems to me that we must have been 
franker about it and less self-conscious in the 
days when I was young. Why, I can re- 
member when we were schoolgirls, in our 
early teens, that dear old Stephen Dublois, 
when he was chairman of our school com- 
mittee, and treated us all as if we were his 
children (that was in the days of the old 
Everett School under Master Hyde, and a 
banner school, too), took us down the har- 
bour to visit the school farm, and how we sang 
*' Home again" as the little tug was coming 
up to the wharf with as much emotion as 
though we had been to Japan. Think what 
it must mean to our boys after their hard 
months over here, and don't you for a minute 
believe that Johnny has not gone marching 
home with many a thought he never had 
before, and with a heart that can say with 
more feeling than he knew he possessed: 

*' Breathes there a man with soul so dead 

Who never to himself hath said: 
* This is my own, my native landy^ — 

and then prate, if you dare, of Internation- 
alism. 

Let us be interested in other people. Let 

us study them with sympathy; know them 

understandingly, — if we can; fight with 

them if we must; but let us otherwise guard 

[ 260 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

ourselves free. Racial traits are deep and 
racial differences marked. They consist in 
more than language, and goodness knows 
that Is a sufficient barrier. 

Now and then I envy you who are going 
to watch at such close range the effect on 
our boys of their punitive expedition, who 
are going to hear what they are going to tell 
about it when they get calmed down and their 
foreign experiences have been re-colored by 
their home life again. They came over Amer- 
icans, and, so far as I have seen them, they 
are going back more American than they 
came. They are carrying lots that is good 
with them, and lots that will In the end have 
a fine effect. Those with eyes to see have 
seen much beauty. A lad said to me the 
other day when he made a second detour to 
say *' good-bye " and thank me for a few 
courtesies a year old: *' I am too happy for 
words to be going back, but I am afraid that, 
just at first, some things are going to look 
pretty crude to me. I shall never see in the 
States a dear little picturesque place like 
this, — at least not In the West, where I come 
from." 

"Perhaps not," I replied, "but go down 
east and walk across the old covered bridge 
across the Sandy River and out to Farm- 
ington, with Its streets of elm trees shading 
white houses with green blinds and white 
picket fences and tall hollyhocks — you'll 

[ 261 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

find it beautiful. Go down the north shore 
of Massachusetts to old Salem, — you can 
hardly beat that here, — then teach the poor 
to plant their back yards and live In them, 
and to grow a common flower wherever a 
common flower will grow." 

You see, while we are not a young race, 
wc are a young country, and we have every 
advantage over Europe except picturesque 
ruins. We have had no old regime to live 
down. We were created on virgin soil by 
thinkers, and we have made a great success 
of it. 

All America needs, in atddition to her great 
heritage, is mental modesty. She was cre- 
ated without it. She prides herself In certain 
sets on being cosmopolitan — a detestable 
quality. Paris is cosmopolitan, and It is 
because more people know Paris than know 
France that people so often misjudge the 
French people, and wrongly Imagine that 
they understand them. You see how cranky 
I am becoming? Never mind that. In the 
course of a few months now we are going 
to have a peace declared. Then every one 
must begin living his life again as best he 
can. I must say that here we have been 
doing it already, in spite of an hour or two 
of excited argument every day. I have been 
pretty well worn down by the war. At my 
age, and with my temperament, that was 
inevitable. But with my theories, of which, 

[ 262 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

when I feel more like it and peace is actually 
signed, I have a final word to say, I cannot 
worry now too much over what I, no more 
than you, can change. 

The garden is beginning to grow. If 
only a little rain would come it would soon 
be pretty. Peas and onions are coming up. 
The tulips are in bud, so are the lilacs. 
Roses are beginning to bud and radishes and 
melons are doing finely in the hot-beds. The 
garden borders — painters' despair, baskets 
of gold, violets — are in flower. But it is still 
too cold for me to play much out-of-doors. 

A very touching thing happened to me to- 
day. The Cure of Couilly, of whom I have 
often written you, came up to say that at Pen- 
tecote the young people of the Commune 
(who on Sunday are to make their first Com- 
munion) , under his guidance and accompanied 
by the older girls, are to make a pious pil- 
grimage across the Marne to the battle-fields 
of the Chateau-Thierry district " to pray at 
the graves of the American heroes who saved 
us nine months ago," and " in honour of the 
American women to whom the commune is 
so deeply beholden." 

Is n't that a graceful thing? So if you get 
this letter by Pentecote — which I suppose 
you will not — you can think of our young 
people leaving here at six in the morning to, 
later in the day, pray beside the American 
graves. 

C 263 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

I am, glad that the little French girls who 
have so much affection for " ces braves 
Americains " are to see their graves in all 
their Decoration Day glory. 

I suppose before this that you have read 
" The Education of Henry Adams " ? Is n't 
it a treat, but, oh! isn't it Boston? It is 
many a day since I have read a book with 
such a relish, and yet I wonder if anyone 
but a Boston-bred person can fully appre- 
ciate it. 

As a really great book. It seems to me to 
come at a most opportune moment, not only 
for what is in the book but for what it makes 
one think; and it is so distinguished as 
literature, and so illuminating as history, 
especially the Civil War part! 

In these days, when we are apt to get so 
excited because people do not readily agree 
with our political ideas, It is good for the 
world to ,be reminded — directly or Indi- 
rectly — that this condition is not new. It 
is well for us Americans to recall that In the 
days of our Revolution we had mighty 
friends In the English parliament; that 
although in the Civil War all Englishmen 
did not side with the North, it had strong 
friends there, and to recall also that England, 
In the days of the Boer War, was divided 
for a time against herself, and that In a most 
outspoken way. These things must be borne 
in mind today, if we Americans want to be 

[ 264 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

just to the land from which as a Nation 
we sprang, and to which, in spite of all, we 
owe the ideas on which we were founded. 
It is easy to say that England is coming out 
"Number Two" in the struggle; but we 
must not be too sure of that yet. The future 
alone knows that, just as the future alone 
knows where France is to stand when the 
too-long discussed peace (?) is finally signed. 
Things may be much the same in the States 
after this is all over. They surely never 
will be the same anywhere else in the big 
world. 

In the meantime no one seems yet to pause 
to think that "Westward moves the Star of 
Empire" — well for California, the Gate 
City of the last great power to arrive, the 
sun sets over Japan. What then? Is it still 
to be " Westward Ho ! " ? 



[ 265 ] 



XX 

May 2g, igig 

Once more the day goes by and the peace 
Is not signed. Can you realize, across the 
ocean, the nervous tension here? Every 
time it appears to be in sight we all brace up 
for it, and the depression that follows is 
hard to bear. It seems to me that the last 
six months has tried us more than the long 
years of fighting. I often ask myself where 
the men fighting for the League of Nations 
get their inspiration to persist. It Is easy 
to say that a new idea takes time to grow; 
and that an old regime cannot be wiped out 
at one blow. Against that there are some 
strange facts to be considered. 

Do you know that all along the occupied 
territory where the Allied armies are still 
under arms, and among thousands of the 
soldiers still in camp in France, and In civil 
circles all over the land, the strong hope is 
that Germany will refuse to si^n, for. In case 
she does, the treaty they do not sign at Ver- 
sailles will only be signed at Berlin, where 
it should have been in the first place. Isn't 
it an odd comment on the present situation 
[ 266 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

to know that even the lads from the nation 
of which Wilson is the chief executive ask 
no better than to hear the order " Shoulder 
arms — March" ? 

This is no theoretic statement — it is what 
the boys themselves tell me, as only by that 
order can they secure the victory they earned 
and out of which they were cheated by the 
Imposed armistice of last November, the 
principal effect of which has been to save 
Germany from the full punishment of her 
crime and to throw an unbearable burden 
on the two nations which have suffered the 
most from that outrage. 

In these days of upheaval, when any hour 
may contain a great surprise, the things I 
write you about may be all changed before 
you read my letter. So you must note these 
things as signs of the times and as a record 
of the spirit here at the time I write. 

When I came out from Paris the other 
day a long military train, made up entirely 
of surrendered German cars, was standing 
on the next track to that on which my train 
stood. It was full of French soldiers — 
permissionaires — returning to Germany to 
rejoin the army of occupation. Every car 
had written on It, In chalk, " En avant pour 
Berlin,'^ or the old 19 14 blague, ^^ Train de 
plaisir pour Berlin/' As It pulled out ahead 
of my train — also a train for the frontier, 
in which were crowds of American soldiers — 

[ 267 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

our boys hung out of the windows to cheer 
the French troops and wish them a speedy 
arrival in Berlin. 

" Straws show which way the wind blows." 

Unluckily, Germany knows all these things. 
She knows everything, and that, too, long 
before we do. 

Do you know what strikes our boys most 
in the region about Coblenz ? The number of 
children. A young American officer, just 
back from there, said to me the other day : 

" I never saw so many children in one 
area in my life. They simply swarm with 
children, and not attractive children either, 
as the French are. Why, in ten years from 
now, or say fifteen, Germany will have a 
bigger army than she had in 19 14, for, of 
course, none of us believe for a moment that 
she will not find a way to train them. If 
there are no frankly supported barracks 
and training camps, there will be so-called 
gymnasiums which will be merely camou- 
flaged barracks." 

Is n't that a sad outlook, with France, the 
barrier country, not only depleted by the 
war in her population but the least pro- 
ductive of all the races? 

Face to face with the present situation, 
in which the war and what it was fought 
for and why it came to pass are being for- 
gotten rapidly, and every effort is being made 
to save all the countries except those on 

[ 268 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

whose soil It was fought, can you real- 
ize now why I insisted last autumn so stren- 
uously on the matter of devastation, and 
tried so hard to inspire you to talk about it 
everywhere? Here, as soon as we knew 
how the Peace Congress was to be made 
up, evei-y one anticipated that what has 
come to pass would come to pass exactly as 
it has. 

I know that It Is no use to worry about 
these things. What Is to be, will be, and the 
world will have to make the best of it, as It 
always has done. But life would be stupid 
but for the fact that we all care enough to 
protest against things not to our taste. Pro- 
tests keep the world going. I don't know 
that all our protesting has much effect. I 
imagine the sfheme is bigger than our finite 
intelligences can grasp. 

In the meantime we lookers-on mak^ many 
odd notes on the signs of the times. There 
has been a perfect rush since Easter to baptize 
children. This is due to two reasons: first, 
during all the years of the war fathers and 
god-fathers were mosdy at the front. In 
the second place, — and this is very sig- 
nificant — many men who had revolted 
against the church have softened In their 
Ideas, and, even when they are not anxious 
to go to the altar and hold their children 
at the font, they make no objection to the 
children going. So It has been a common 

[ 269 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

sight to see families of four children all being 
baptized together. 

There have been no men braver at the front 
than the priests, many of them bearing arms 
in the trenches as common soldiers; and many 
an anti-clerical workman has returned with 
a new idea of them. There is no telling yet 
whether or not this means anything, but as 
a sign it may interest you. 

Naturally, lots of amusing things happen 
at these baptisms. The other day — last 
Sunday in fact — a family of three were 
baptized together. One of them, a boy of 
four, who was baptized with his older sister 
and his baby brother, was terribly interested, 
but not used to church. When the priest 
put the water on his head he looked up and 
said politely: "No need to .do that. My 
mamma Avashed my head last night." 

When I speak of French children, I always 
feel enthusiastic. I think there are nowhere 
in the world more attractive children. Ask 
the American boys when they get home what 
they think of them. I have never found two 
opinions among those with whom I have 
talked. Invariably they tell me that they 
never saw nicer or more attractive or better 
behaved children. Never forward, they are 
rarely shy. They talk delightfully, if you 
want them to, but they are never intrusive, 
and they are almost never quarrelsome. 
They demand little and yet they are happy. 
[ 270 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

If I were a rich woman, there Is one work 
to which I should devote myself — the 
founding of model creches and model ma- 
ternity hospitals all over France. It is a 
work which would do more for the race than 
anything else. Eventually, France will do 
it for herself. Talk about new ideas taking 
long to root and old regimes dying hard! In 
the days of the church supremacy the Sisters 
did most of this work, and, when they were 
driven out, the anti-church party did not at 
once replace their works by civil institutions. 
I suppose It will come sometime, and that 
time will be after some of the seed the Amer- 
ican Red Cross and the American Medical 
Corps sowed here has rooted and grown as 
it will in time, — unless the German threat 
of returning In ten years is carried out. 
When I say that, I know as well as you do 
that time will not stand still In Germany any 
more than it will here; and that we no more 
know today what the effect of the last five 
years is to be on the future race of Huns 
than what it is going to be on the rest of the 
world. Nothing stands still. It looks to me 
as if the Constitution of the United States 
of America had stood still as long as it wisely 
can since the Fifteenth Amendment, which is 
the last amendment I seem to know anything 
about. 

The days are long and full of sunshine, 
and the new moon, like a thin, silver crescent, 

[ 271 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

shines here on as beautiful a world as I can 
conceive. Yet, though I look out at It Into 
a silent, absolutely peaceful landscape, even 
here I feel the vibrations of unrest, which, 
as I have told you before, I feel that the 
signing of the peace, however unjust, can 
alone calm — but when? — how? — where? 
— that is still the trying question. 



272 



XXI 

June 4, 1919 
Well, dear, I have your letter written 
when you felt sure that Peace would be pro- 
claimed by the time 1 received it. Yet weeks 
have gone by — it is not signed yet. You 
know before this exactly how I feel, and 
how ardently I believe it best that — just or 
unjust (and probably unjust) — it should be 
signed. I can dream of a better thing than 
the signature at Versailles, but it is only a 
dream. Judging by your letter you are a 
Utopian. I am afraid that I am not. 

Never mind, every generation has its 
dream, and I fancy each aspires toward its 
own special Utopia. Personally Utopia 
seems a bit dull to me. 

I have known few thinking people who 
could be happy forever in what we call 
" calm," or In a coddled tranquillity, with 
nothing to do. It Is the struggle which 
makes It interesting, and the great problem 
of life is to find work — the more absorbing 
the better — but it must be work one loves. 
The strong love the struggle, and the happi- 
est people I have ever known have been the 

[ 273 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

hardest working — men and women who 
could not call an hour their own, and had no 
relations with the soft world, where society 
exists and makes engagements as its only 
occupation. But a hard worker wants suc- 
cess in some form. Nine times out of ten it 
IS not money, but the struggle which grips. 
That makes it a mental or spiritual war, 
and in many forms it is just as cruel as the 
battlefield. It is often, as in commerce, just 
as ugly as war, and it has none of war's 
glory. 

There is nothing in which the complexity 
of the wonderful human soul is more visible 
than In Its attitude to war. It looks on it 
with horror, and then — cheers it like mad! 
In a small way the theatre is an epitome of 
it. You go to a tragedy. You know it Is a 
tragedy, yet you choose to see it. It wrings 
sobs and tears from you, but. If It holds you 
and rings true, you go again and again, — at 
least most of you do, — knowing that it will 
make you suffer, yet enjoying your very 
suffering. It Is the same with war — you 
hate it, you shrink from It, yet it enthralls 
you. 

Science, development. Idealism, cannot do 
away with death, nor can the League of Na- 
tions with war. Even Wilson has had to own 
that. They cannot subdue Vesuvius, nor 
bridle the Iceberg, nor will they ever, I be- 
lieve, check in man the love of combat. It 
[ 274 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

does not seem to me that fundamentals 
change much. Ways of doing things have, 
even ways of thinking about it. 
. Each of us, on becoming a thinking animal 
— and thinking animals are in a very small 
minority — seems to me to evolve a personal 
idea of the scheme — that's not the right 
word, but you understand. To me, — and 
I believe that it is "not without a plan" — 
evolution seems like a never-ending belt, 
moving so slowly that finite instincts cannot 
sense its motion, yet steady, direct, eternal, 
while on it the generations struggle, agitate 
themselves, or dream, while the beginning, 
unending scheme moves on with us from our 
invisible beginning to our end, — in spite of 
us, not because of us, not for one breath 
hastened any more than it is hindered by all 
the turmoil and upheavals in which the gen- 
erations that succeed each other are absorbed. 
The veil through which we enter and be- 
hind which we disappear has never been torn. 
The space between its opening and closing 
which we call " Life " is but a brief span, but 
how interesting that span is every one who 
has properly lived bears witness by living, 
for the most compelling thing of all is that 
it is the bravest, who are "the tenderest," 
the loving, who are " the strong," who seri- 
ously, and all understandingly, take part in 
the show, — who never tire of it, nor cease 
to be interested. So little does living weary 

[ 275 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

them that It is in the minds of such people 
that intelligence evolved the faith to believe 
that this life is not all. I have that conviction 
so fixed In my mind that I feel sure that, al- 
though they talk so little about it, most In- 
telligent people have, quite apart from 
religion, the same Instinctive faith and hope. 
It Is no new Idea In our generation. I have 
said that no fundamental things change In 
the centuries. But just as methods and 
fashions and points of view change, It seems 
to me that each century evolves a new form 
of faith to meet Its own requirements. 

I have long known that you craved an 
exit to eternal silence. 

You long for rest. You may be right. I 
don't know. As for me, I have been so in- 
terested that I ask to go on. You, who know 
something of my life, cannot pretend that It 
is because I have been happier or more lucky 
than most people, — quite the contrary. Yet 
I have the faith to believe — a faith inspired, 
I suppose, by the desire, that when I dis- 
appear into the au dela, I shall, and I trust 
without too much delay, reappear through 
the veil again bound once more on the Great 
Adventure — not exactly like the supers In 
the theatre who rush behind the scenes from 
the exit to reappear In the same clothes at 
the entrance, to re-cross the stage and pro- 
long the mimic procession. No, not that. I 
expect to return and re-begin my develop- 

[ 276 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

ment where I left off, bringing with me, as 
baggage, all that I have acquired, and even 
the results of all I have suffered, even my 
failures and my mistakes. 

You have asked me — well, there is my 
faith. 

It Is that faith which has carried mc 
through these last years. I cannot believe 
— I would not if I could — that all these 
last years have been in vain for anyone. I 
have no desire for " eternal rest," no longing 
for " a mansion in the skies," no crav- 
ing for "crown and reward," and I do hope 
you will understand when I say that I 
do not even ask to re-find in "their habit 
as they walked" the treasures this life 
has bestowed and withdrawn. Those are 
part of me as I am, woven in the soul of me, 
going out with me and returning with me. 
For good or for evil I am content to be the 
result of what I have lived through, what 
I have learned, and what I have done. I may 
not understand. I may not have weighed 
values justly. The great surprise which we 
call "Death" may be for me a knowledge 
of the truth which the mortal covering we 
call "Flesh" may have prevented me from 
seeing. Well, I am ready to take the risk. 
If I cannot, why all the struggles of life 
would have been in vain, and this living to 
me would have been a useless farce. 

Nor could I look on this war as I have — 

[ 277 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

or any war — if I did not feel what leaps In 
advance our thousands and thousands of 
youths made when they met heroic deaths 
at an age when men do not look to die, who 
have given precious life at an age when It 
Is dear, and full of hope, — many of them, 
of course. In response to a call they did not 
fully understand, but most of them In a full 
realization of exactly what they were doing. 
To feel that, In dying for others, they have 
won for themselves, takes the sting out of 
death, and In believing, as I most ardently 
do, that though they have disappeared for 
a space, they are to return, wearing In their 
souls and characters the results of their 
noble sacrifice seems to me a promise for the 
future, In which even the present can rejoice. 
Of course your logical mind Is going to 
say, " Prove It." I can't. I don't even try. 
If I did, I should never use the word " Faith." 
I know Intimately any number of people who 
will prove some of it. I don't even ask to 
have it proved. I have never done any 
laboratory work such as so long occupied 
Minot Savage, or such as occupies men like 
Conan Doyle and Oliver Lodge today. I 
have never had any occult experiences such 
as dear Elsa Barker has had. I am even 
willing to own that we each create our own 
theory of the Great Adventure out of our 
own needs. But I do know that moving over 
the surface of modern life and through Its 

[ 278 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

depths some Idea like mine has been moving 
all through this generation, and that if there 
is to come any vital improvement in the 
future it can only come through the Indi- 
vidual recognizing his obligations to his own 
soul, and the fact that we are builders of 
our own characters, the carvers of our own 
destinies, and that on ourselves and on no 
one else rest the penalties of our lives. The 
person who has come to realize that, and 
to feel that the judgment " Know thyself " 
may be a bitterer punishment than ever the 
ancient threat of hell-fire was, has not been 
quite a mollusc. 

Though I cannot give you the proofs your 
logical mind will demand, I must confess 
that only in this way can I explain many 
things in life, like genius, for example. How 
otherwise can we account for children like 
Mozart, or, to come nearer to our own 
experiences, Josef Hoffman, except by be- 
lieving that the children who did at nine 
years old what Intelligent men spent all 
their lives to acquire, brought with them, 
as baggage, the results of achievements 
In some earlier incarnation? How else 
can we account for the children of a 
family who though physically resembling one 
another bear no spiritual, mental or moral 
relationship to one another? How do you 
explain the fact that great geniuses rarely 
father great geniuses, and that, on the con- 

[ 279 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

trary, geniuses as an almost universal rule 
have ordinary children, and from unexpected 
parents great men are so often born? How 
do you explain the sudden impulses which 
people have toward each other — I am not 
talking of the physical attraction we call 
*' love," which, in nine times out of ten, is 
as biological as the Huns, — but of the rare 
friendships that are so soul-compelling that 
they are hard to explain except by the 
thought that they had their beginnings else- 
where, and only blossomed here. I cannot 
myself see how by any other belief we can 
explain that while physical inheritance is so 
common, spiritual, moral and mental inheri- 
tance seems so rare in families. 

Did It ever occur to you — of course it has 
— that one can prove almost anything? It 
all depends on the point from which one 
starts, and, in subjects like this, the starting 
point is pure conjecture, since no one really 
knows the truth about the beginnings of 
things. 

Naturally, you and your scientific friends 
will shoot this argument full of holes, only 
It happens that Science, even, cannot riddle 
Faith with Its arguments. 

It, at times — when I am in a mood of 
contrariness — seems to me a joke to remem- 
ber how man has theorized from as long 
ago as we know anything about him, and I 
am persuaded he always will, and I am glad 
[ 280 ] 



Whek Johnny Comes Marching Home 

of It It kills so many hours that would 
otherwise be idle. Each cycle in philosophy 
— which is after all only mental gymnas- 
tics, as fascinating for those interested as a 
trapeze performance, and just as wonderful, 
and now and then just as prett}^, and often 
just as dangerous — has calmly overturned 
the conclusions of the previous one — I might 
except Plato — without in the very least 
disconcerting the looker-on. Then some one 
writes the history of it all, and we who are 
interested read it with pertect sang-froid^ 
not a bit realizing that the Future will do 
with us and our creeds exactly what we do 
with the Past — look on with interested 
curiosity. Wouldn't you like to know what 
the future will say of us ? Well, you probably 
will — but without really knowing it. 

Even today I am a bit overwhelmed with 
all the marvels of it. Only think I can re- 
member the first street cars on rails (horse- 
drawn), the first electric cars, the first auto- 
mobiles, the first telephone, the first bicycle, 
the first typewriter, the first linotype. Rail- 
roads were primitive In my youth, and 
the telegraph was In Its Infancy when 
I arrived on the scene this time. In fact 
no epoch has ever made the mechani- 
cal strides that this one has done, just as 
none has ever produced such a war as ours — 
a war with all the modern improvements. 
We surely have provided topics of all sorts 

[ 281 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

for the theorists of the future, and for the 
writers. 

I imagine that I have already, many times, 
remarked how wonderful it seems to me that 
Life and Living have been so arranged as if 
to keep Man interested and occupied — with 
the Earth full of wonders to be dug for, 
and which are dug for by so many grown 
and clever men with just as much interest 
and absorption as that with which children 
dig for worms or play with toys. Cities 
are lost and forgotten that later generations 
may be interested in digging them up and 
talking about them. Races of men and 
races of animals become extinct that very 
cultivated scholars of future generations may 
devote their serious maturity to bringing 
them back to our interest, and the Earth 
and the Air are full of strange animals and 
strange bugs — visible and invisible — that 
clever men, armed with microscopes and 
other instruments and much erudition, may 
write fascinating books about them, and re- 
cite fascinating lectures to prove them more 
wonderful, as well as more interesting, than 
Man himself. 

Just think of all the material for that sort 
of research which is coming out of this war. 
Only think of the thousands of heavily laden 
ships of all sorts that have been sent to the 
bottom by the diabolical submarines, which 
the Huns did not invent, but which only 
[ 282 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

such a race could have put to the use 
they did. Under the waves lie not only the 
bones of the men, women, and children sacri- 
ficed in this mighty struggle for supremacy, 
but untold treasures of all sorts. "The 
Reef of Stars " sort of thing is not a patch 
on this. 

Not only have thousands and thousands 
of tons of food gone down to feed the fishes 
and the mermaids but there, among the flora 
and in the " caves of the deep," are gold and 
diamonds, clothing and bedding and beds, 
porcelains and glass, carpets and furniture, 
and all the lost trunks of ships like the 
Lusitania. What a chance for a future 
Jules Verne, and what a work of salvage 
England has already begun. Fantastic im- 
aginations have a field before them never 
before presented in the same way. Imagine 
— just try to Imagine In what wealth the 
mermaids of Neptune's realms must be 
living in these days. To be sure, Parisians 
might consider them a bit demodee. 

You must be patient with all this, if It Is 
not what you are waiting to hear about. I 
don't know what the tendency of the future 
Is going to be. How can I ? I don't know 
any better than you do whether or not this 
philosophical attempt at a lasting peace is 
going to lead where you hope it may. How 
can I? I sometimes think that the intention 
of the great scheme, — "A mighty maze" 

[' 283 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

indeed — is that each generation should have 
its great chance. We, who have lived these 
days, surely know now that Life can give no 
greater opportunity to each generation than 
one which lets it give evidence to its belief 
that there are things it values much more 
than it values life, and, in its turn, to 
prove that every day humanity Is ca- 
pable of making the sacrifice, facing the 
danger, and without repining demonstrate 
that neither heroism nor chivalry is dead. 
The point which we had reached and in which 
so many saw only materialism, was but a tem- 
porary turning place in the march toward the 
future, a crossroads where humanity stopped 
to think, and thinking, acted, because, gen- 
erally speaking, what has happened to our 
generation was no haphazard circumstance 
' — if anything is ever haphazard. 

One thing I do know. Our generation 
has made good. I have often said when 
I was younger that I wished I had lived 
in this or that epoch, which seemed more 
interesting than ours. I don't say so any 
more. As it recedes, I begin to get it in 
perspective — and really it has been wonder- 
ful, not because of its nine big wars, but in 
spite of them. 

I hope that I have seen my last. I mean 
to settle down in the garden now and live 
with my memories, not feeling yet too old to 
write up over my desk: 

[ 284 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

''^ Happy the man, and happy he alone, 
He who can call today his own; 
He who, secure within, can say: 
' Tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived 

today; 
Be fair or foul, or rain or shine. 
The joys I have posssessed, in spite of fate, 

are mine. 
Not Heaven itself on the past has power. 
But what has been, has been, and I have 

had my hour."* " 

Does n't that take you back to your school 
days? It does me. 

I can't tell you just how It all seems to me 
here now. You remember that I was hardly 
settled here when the war came, and my 
well-laid plans for a quiet life in the quiet 
country, forgotten and forgetting, were 
ruined. I look out each morning on my 
beautiful panorama — but it has been a 
battlefield. I look at Amelie and try to re- 
member what she was like in the days before 
dangers drew us close together for ever and 
aye. It is so quiet here, so peaceful, and yet 
it is hard to forget the nights of bombard- 
ments, the noisy passing of the military 
trains, and all the movement to which we 
became so accustomed. I don't know some- 
times which seems the more remarkable — 
that we lived through four years of it, or 
that it is over. It is marvellous what the 

[ 285 ] 



When Johnny Comes Marching Home 

Immortal soul In Its human frame can stand, 
and seemingly be the better for. So God 
bless every one who has faced It and come 
through It, and glory be to these who won 
through at the great cost of the sublime 
sacrifice. 



H65 89 .(4«'« 

[ 286 ] 






: '^0^ 



»5^^ . 



!pV% 






6^V ^. 






/ «^^"-. 









'-^^4' • 



*^^^^ • 









"oK 






• *Ov A*' 












A^ «« "^^i. ''••*' -^^^ Deaf»d using the Bookkeeper process. 

^ oOjL**^ '*^ r<y t* Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 

•• %.0^ ^*^ TreatmentDate: ^^^^ 200T 

r*^ fc^" ^ **^ A WORLD LEADER IN PAPER PRESERVATfOM 

- t ^"^ Q^ *^ 111 Thomson Park Drive 

«J>^ • i ■» ^<S^ y^ Cranberry Township, PA 16066 

•*^^ -.>.«••» *Q. (724)779-2111 

«ft . .. 







.0^ ..".•. "■ 



*»o 



.4'°^ ' 






















HECKMAN -^ 
BINDERY INC. I" 

#MAY 89 
N. MANCHESTER, 
INDIANA 46962 









